Harry Potter and the Missing Memories
by Cynthia Black
Summary: 5th Year fic written pre-OotP. This story begins where the Goblet of Fire left off. Harry has to come to terms with what has happened and the implications it has for the future. What is Arabella Figg's part in all this? Why is Neville so forgetful? And d
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1  
  
Relative Safety  
  
It was three-o'-clock in the morning, and Harry lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the dulcet tones of his cousin Dudley's snores from the next room. Funny, thought Harry, how a noise resembling a cross between a suction pump and agricultural machinery could actually sound comforting. Well, almost.  
  
It was now three weeks since he'd got off the Hogwarts Express at Kings Cross and four weeks since. Harry shuddered involuntarily. He hadn't been sleeping too well since he'd arrived back at Privet Drive. The Leaving Feast had been a turning point and he'd felt able to talk about what had happened since then, but, well, he didn't have anyone to talk to here. And without that pressure valve of talking to relieve the numbness and pain that overtook him in waves, the nightmares had returned within days. They were all similar, a jumble of fragmented sounds and images, which always included a pair of red, flaming eyes, that high, cold laughter, and the Death Eaters black cloaks, which turned into bats and flew at him, smashing against the golden bars of the cage around him. And Cedric Diggory's pale, lifeless face staring blankly at him, finally disappearing in a flash of green light that awoke him.  
  
Harry reached under the edge of his mattress and pulled out his very dog- eared copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, switched on a small torch and flicked his way through it half-heartedly, hoping to find something to catch his attention. But his eyes, stinging from the lack of sleep, couldn't focus on the words, so he tucked it back under the mattress with a sigh and lay back down again.  
  
Harry couldn't explain why, but despite the nightmares and the usual frostiness of his aunt and uncle toward him, he somehow felt more secure at number four Privet Drive than he ever had done before. The mundane chores he had to do, the predictability of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's reactions to him, even the bullying attentions of Dudley seemed comfortingly 'normal' to him after the roller-coaster ride of emotions he'd been through this last year. Perhaps that had been what Dumbledore had had in mind when he'd insisted that Harry came back to Privet Drive this summer, instead of going directly to The Burrow. Though Harry knew which option he would have preferred. But the fact that Professor Dumbledore wanted him to be here both intrigued him and reassured him. I must ask him why sometime, thought Harry, as he drifted off into fitful slumber.  
  
*  
  
"Get up, you ungrateful boy. Get up now!"  
  
Harry awoke with a start, as Aunt Petunia hammered on his door. He quickly glanced at the clock on his bedside table and realised that he had overslept. Aunt Petunia knocked on the door again.  
  
"Come on, boy, your uncle is waiting for his breakfast."  
  
Reluctantly Harry staggered out of bed, pulled on a jumper over his pyjamas and opened the door. Aunt Petunia glared at him ferociously.  
  
"How dare you keep your uncle waiting like this! You know he has an important meeting this morning and has to leave earlier than usual. No doubt you've done this on purpose."  
  
"Sorry," mumbled Harry, as he passed his aunt and headed down the stairs towards the kitchen.  
  
Uncle Vernon, a rotund man with very little neck, didn't look up as Harry entered the room, but continued sifting through a pile of papers that he had taken from the open briefcase beside him. Harry went over to the stove without a word and began to make his uncle's breakfast: a bacon sandwich and a mug of black coffee.  
  
"About time too," he growled, still not looking up from his papers, as Harry put the plate and mug down on the table in front of him. Harry turned back to the kitchen area and started washing up the frying pan.  
  
Aunt Petunia came into the room carrying Uncle Vernon's jacket and umbrella.  
  
"The car will be here in a minute, dear," she said.  
  
"Ah yes." Uncle Vernon looked up at the clock and started packing the documents carefully back into his briefcase. "Make or break, this meeting is, Petunia. Large contract. If we get it, then we're set for the next few years. If we don't." He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, hopefully it won't come to that. Isn't Dudley up yet? I don't know what's got into that lad lately."  
  
"Yes, I'm quite worried about him," replied Aunt Petunia, " He's off his food and he's become so aggressive towards us, so introverted. It's quite unlike him. I might take him to the doctors if things don't improve soon."  
  
Harry smiled to himself. Ah yes, Dudley. From the moment he could walk, Dudley had made it his sport, no, his purpose in life to ensure that Harry was as miserable as he could possibly make him. He had bullied Harry, chased him (though, as he was nearing the size of an Indian elephant, Harry was usually far too quick for him), broken anything that Harry liked or wanted and ensured that he had no friends, because all the other children at primary school had been far too scared of Dudley to even speak to him. Dudley had always got whatever he wanted, because Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always given in at the first sign of a tantrum. But he had also done everything his parents expected of him: he'd sided with them against Harry and everything he stood for, he'd followed in his father's footsteps to Smeltings, a (rather expensive) private school, and he'd greased up to Uncle Vernon's relatives and work contacts exquisitely, though usually for a fee.  
  
But this summer, Dudley seemed rather different. He had lost a fair amount of weight over the year at school. It seems that the school nurse, noting the very limited success that the diet of the previous summer had achieved, had taken Dudley on board as her own personal project. She'd personally overseen his dietary requirements and had also embarked him upon a strict exercise regime, as well as some counselling sessions. Not that he was now skinny, but at least he fitted back into the largest size of the school uniform. From what Harry could gather, Aunt Petunia was not particularly enamoured with the school nurse and her regime, especially the counselling sessions, which she seemed to regard as a personal insult.  
  
"He doesn't need counselling, just love and affection," Harry had overheard her telling Aunt Marge on the telephone on one occasion. "It's not as if we've ever neglected him or anything."  
  
But by far the biggest difference in Dudley this summer was the way he now reacted to his parents and Harry. Whereas in the past he'd thrown tantrums in order to get his own way, then toed the line as soon as he had what he wanted, now he seemed to rail against everything his parents stood for. The frequent confrontations between them could be heard halfway down the street. Harry learnt very quickly to keep well out of the way on such occasions and took to shutting himself in his room until he heard Dudley crash past and slam his bedroom door. Dudley still wasn't pleasant to Harry, but neither was he openly aggressive. Instead he had taken to silently watching Harry as he went about his chores as if trying to weigh him up, which Harry found far more disconcerting than the bullying.  
  
The tooting of a car horn brought Harry back to the present. Uncle Vernon's 'car' had arrived. It was actually a private hire vehicle, a sleek black BMW with the licencing plate hastily removed from the back bumper, leaving only the screw holes showing. This was one of the other changes at Privet Drive since last summer: Uncle Vernon had had one glass of port too many at his firm's Christmas party and had been stopped by the police on the way home. As a consequence, the family car lay idle on the driveway while he served out his driving ban. To save face, Aunt Petunia had told the neighbours that they now employed a chauffeur, and Uncle Vernon had bribed the BMW's owner heavily to remove his taxi licence each morning before he turned into Privet Drive. The man had however refused to wear a suit and peaked cap.  
  
Once Uncle Vernon had departed, Aunt Petunia turned to Harry, who was now eating a piece of toast, and snapped, "Well, what are you lazing about here for? Get yourself dressed properly, I've got some chores for you to do."  
  
Wearily, toast still in hand, Harry went back upstairs, wondering what delights his aunt had in store for him today.  
  
*  
  
Late afternoon found Harry in the front garden of number four Privet Drive, soaked to the skin and covered in mud. His clothes, which were all Dudley's cast-offs and far too big for him, clung to his thin body in folds, rather like the skin on an elephant's legs. His hair lay flat against his head, apart from a few tufts on top, which stubbornly stuck out at various angles as if defying gravity.  
  
After Harry had spent most of the morning polishing the numerous brass ornaments in the house, Aunt Petunia had insisted that he should weed the flowerbeds in the back garden in spite of the pouring rain. "The fresh air will toughen you up," she'd said, as she ushered him out of the back door, locking it behind him. At lunchtime he hadn't been allowed back indoors because Aunt Petunia had washed the floors that morning and didn't want 'the likes of Harry' walking across them. She had left him a sandwich and a mug of tea on the back doorstep, but he hadn't reached them in time to prevent rainwater from the leaky guttering from turning the sandwich mushy.  
  
The rain had now stopped, and the sun had broken through from behind the clouds, making Harry feel warmer than he had done for hours. As soon as she'd realised that the rain had stopped, Aunt Petunia had appeared at the back door with a new set of instructions: he was to creosote the fencing in the front garden. "And make sure you do it thoroughly, otherwise the fencing might rot if we get more rain." Harry didn't really see the point in painting the fence now, because the wood was still damp from the rain, but he knew better than to argue. Perhaps if I used this stuff on me, I'd be waterproof too, he thought wistfully as he brushed his sodden hair out of his eyes and started work again. One of Hermione's waterproofing charms would probably have been better though, not that it would be allowed here.  
  
The sun felt deliciously warm on Harry's back as he slowly but surely coated the fence in the evil-smelling creosote. There was no point in hurrying, after all. Aunt Petunia had told him to do a thorough job, and if he finished quickly then she would only find something else for him to do. Harry was of the opinion that number four Privet Drive must be the best-maintained house in the district during the summer months, with the amount of work he did around the place. In the last three weeks alone he had not only done all the usual gardening chores, such as weeding and mowing the lawn, and his quota of cooking and washing-up, but he had also partially redecorated the lounge. Since last August, Uncle Vernon had had the entire chimney-breast in the lounge removed, and it had been Harry's first task of the summer to paper and paint over the new plasterwork.  
  
"It's so much more practical now," Aunt Petunia had told the next-door neighbour. "We weren't using the fireplace at all, and this way we can arrange the furniture how we like, without a redundant fire being the focal point."  
  
Harry doubted very much that the practicality of the room had been their prime consideration and thought it much more likely that it had something to do with the way Harry had travelled to Ron's house the previous summer, and with a certain toffee.  
  
Yes, this was definitely the most palatable bit of life at Privet Drive, thought Harry as he plucked a fly off the paintbrush: doing a slow, mundane job outside in the sunshine, keeping out of everyone else's way. Then he became conscious that he was being watched. He turned to see Dudley standing at the lounge window, just standing there and staring at him. Harry turned away again quickly and carried on painting. Just ignore him and he'll go away, thought Harry. But it's strange, why is he acting like this?  
  
As Harry was finishing the last bit of fence and his clothes had just about dried out in the sun, the black 'chauffeur-driven' BMW turned into Privet Drive and screeched to a halt outside number four. Uncle Vernon climbed awkwardly out of the back of the car, grinning from ear to ear, and hurried, no almost skipped up the garden path towards the house.  
  
"Petunia!" called Uncle Vernon as he opened the front door. "Petunia, where are you? I've got some important news."  
  
He disappeared inside the house and closed the door behind him. Curious as to what this 'important news' might be, Harry quickly packed up the creosote and brushes, left them outside the back door, went inside and slipped off his shoes. He followed the sound of Uncle Vernon's voice, which was coming from the lounge.  
  
". so I have to go to Rome next week to sign the contract. This'll keep us in business for the next five years. But the best bit is that they want me to take the family over with me. They're a family-based business, and they place great importance on family ties."  
  
Aunt Petunia squealed in raptures of delight. "Oh, I've always wanted to see the sights of Rome, especially the canals!" "That's Venice, my dear," corrected Uncle Vernon.  
  
"And they do really massive pizzas, don't they Dad?" grinned Dudley. Then his face fell. "Not that I can have much, " he added.  
  
"So we're going to Rome?" said Harry, standing in the lounge doorway. The trio all turned and stared at him.  
  
"We're going to Rome, but you most certainly are not," spluttered Uncle Vernon, his face purpling. "With your track record, you'd cause utter chaos!"  
  
Thinking back to the incident with Dobby and the pudding, not to mention Aunt Marge's last visit, Harry had to concede that he had a point.  
  
"So I'm staying here by myself?" Harry asked, a warm wave of anticipation rising within him at the thought of a Dursley-free house all to himself for a few days.  
  
"We can't have that either," snapped Aunt Petunia, staring down her thin nose at him coldly. "There'd probably be no house to come back to. No, we'll have to find someone to take you in while we're away."  
  
* 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Arabella Figg  
  
The Dursleys booked their flight to Rome for the afternoon of Tuesday 29th July, to return on Saturday 2nd August. Over the days before their departure, their excitement and preparations reached fever pitch. Aunt Petunia could be seen fretting over which dresses she should take, and she kept asking Uncle Vernon how many times they were supposed to dine with their clients. "I couldn't possibly be seen wearing the same outfit twice. That just wouldn't do." Harry reckoned he had seen her pack and unpack the suitcases at least a dozen times, carefully ticking off each item on her checklists to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything.  
  
Uncle Vernon had taken no less than five suits to the dry cleaners, and he kept drilling Dudley on Italian greetings and etiquette.  
  
"Bog-jewerno, comma star," repeated Dudley dully, at his fifth attempt.  
  
"No, no, no, Dudley, it's buon giorno, come sta," said Uncle Vernon in exasperation. "And remember, always shake hands first, that's safest. The ladies may then want to kiss you - always kiss the left cheek first, followed by the right." Harry, who was dusting the windowsill at the time, smirked to himself and wondered why any lady in her right mind would want to kiss Dudley. Uncle Vernon then handed Dudley a CD-Rom entitled 'Teach yourself Italian in Seven Days' and suggested that he should retire to his room and do what he could in the time available.  
  
Harry tried to keep out of the way of these preparations as much as possible, as being 'in the way' seemed to be rewarded either with an even longer list of chores to do - Aunt Petunia seemed to want the whole house spring-cleaning before she went - or a reminder from Uncle Vernon's foot that his very existence meant he was in the way.  
  
The matter of where Harry was to stay had not yet been settled. Aunt Petunia had made numerous telephone calls, but apparently without success. She had rung Aunt Marge, who had said she couldn't possibly take Harry in, because Ripper, her favourite bulldog, was recuperating from a stomach operation and needed her undivided attention. Harry was rather pleased about this, as he surmised he would probably have needed surgery after five days of Aunt Marge's attention. Aunt Petunia had also phoned her friend Yvonne, and even Mrs Polkiss, the mother of Dudley's best friend Piers, but to no avail. Harry started to hope once more that Aunt Petunia might relent and let him stay by himself at Privet Drive. After all, she might not have any choice.  
  
Harry was just finishing off cleaning out the wall units in the kitchen, when Dudley came in and sat on a stool behind him. Even without turning round, Harry could sense that Dudley was watching him again. He could almost feel his gaze boring into the back of his head. This was really starting to get to him. Keep calm, Harry told himself as he felt the colour rising in his neck and ears, or you'll really blow things and stand no chance of staying here while they're away. He hurriedly put the last bits of crockery back into the cupboard, put the cloth and cleaner away and headed upstairs to the relative safety of his room.  
  
As he opened the door, he heard a scratching noise in the corner. Hedwig had returned and was sitting in her cage. As soon as she saw Harry, she flew over and settled on his forearm, nibbling his thumb affectionately.  
  
"Hello, Hedwig, did you have a nice time at The Burrow?" he asked. Hedwig hadn't been at Privet Drive much over the summer so far. As Uncle Vernon hated Hedwig's nocturnal habits so much, Harry had thought it best to send her out as much as possible, even though he missed her company. After sending her on a few errands, delivering letters to Hermione and Sirius, he'd sent her off to the Weasleys' house for an extended visit, with a letter asking Ron to look after her and feed her for a couple of weeks. It was definitely better than being locked in a cage here, which is what would have happened if she'd stayed.  
  
Then Harry noticed that she had a letter tied to her leg. He untied it and opened it. It was from Ron:  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Hedwig was getting a bit too restless here ~ Pig was annoying her too  
much and they'd started scrapping. No offence or anything, but I'd  
like to keep my owl in one piece. Anyway I think she was missing you.  
Hope you're surviving OK there. Do you need Mum to send you any  
food?  
  
Hermione's coming to stay for the last couple of weeks of the hols as  
usual. Mum's going to owl Dumbledore to see if it's OK for you to  
come and stay with us as well.  
  
Take care,  
  
Ron  
  
Harry smiled. It was always nice to get post from his friends, especially from Ron. He was so steady, so dependable. Harry hoped Dumbledore would let him stay at The Burrow for the last two weeks in August. It had almost become a tradition. Then the idea struck him: if Aunt Petunia wasn't going to let him stay at Privet Drive, then maybe she'd agree to let him go to the Weasleys'. But how to broach the subject in a way that would guarantee success. Harry hurriedly grabbed a scrap of parchment and a quill and wrote:  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
Thanks for looking after Hedwig and hope Pig has recovered!  
  
I need a favour. Could you ask your mum if it would be possible for  
me to stay at your place from Tuesday until Saturday? The Dursleys  
are going away and they don't want to leave me here by myself. Not  
sure they'd approve of me coming to yours either, but it might be  
worth a try.  
  
I need a quick answer, so please could you send Hedwig straight back?  
  
Thanks,  
  
Harry  
  
Harry folded up the parchment and tied it to Hedwig's leg. He checked the bedroom door was shut, then reached under the loose floorboard and pulled out the remains of a box of owl treats he'd bought on the last Hogsmeade visit.  
  
"Sorry to send you out again so soon, Hedwig, but I need you to take this letter straight back to Ron as fast as you can and bring his reply," he said, as the owl gratefully took some treats from his hand. Hedwig finished the owl treats, stretched her wings and soared back out of the open window.  
  
*  
  
After lunch, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went out to do a spot of Saturday afternoon shopping, leaving Harry with strict instructions to have the lawn mown before they got back. Dudley stayed upstairs in his room with his computer, still trying to master rudimentary Italian. Harry set to work on the lawn, making sure that he mowed it in even, straight rows, the way Uncle Vernon liked it.  
  
He was on the second time through (Uncle Vernon insisted that the lawn should be cut three times to ensure not a single blade got missed) when Dudley emerged from the kitchen onto the patio. After idly pushing a stone around with his foot for a minute or two, he walked to the edge of the lawn and watched Harry working.  
  
Oh no, not again, thought Harry, as he reached the far end of the lawn and turned round ready for the next row. Why on earth is he doing this? Harry managed to ignore him for a couple more rows. But then as he emptied the grass cuttings from the mower onto the compost heap, he heard Dudley walking across the lawn. He waited with his back still turned, expecting Dudley to say something or push him or even hit him. But no, Dudley stopped a few feet behind Harry and just stood there. This was just too much. Unable to contain himself any longer, he dropped the grass box, wheeled round sharply, his fists clenched, and yelled, "WHAT?!"  
  
Dudley looked quite taken aback by Harry's sudden outburst and just stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Harry yelled again, his eyes narrowed in anger. Dudley paused for a second, then stammered, "C-c-can I t-talk to y-you?"  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Dudley wanted to talk to him? This was getting weirder by the minute. "Why on earth do you want to talk to me? You never have before. And why are you watching me all the time?" Harry asked sharply, his anger subsiding, but still very much on his guard.  
  
"Well, Rosie said I need to understand other people better in order to improve myself. She says my problems stem from being too inward-looking and wrapped up in myself and that I need to get to know types of people I wouldn't normally speak to or have anything to do with," Dudley blurted out, his face and neck reddening.  
  
"Who's Rosie?" asked Harry, the corners of his mouth turning up into a mischievous grin. "Dudley, have you got yourself a girlfriend?"  
  
"No, Rosie's not my girlfriend, she's the school nurse," said Dudley, going even redder. Then he added, "But her daughter's kind of alright."  
  
There was a moment's silence, and then Harry said slowly, "So, I'm your summer project in 'unusual people types', am I? You won't get very far by staring me out all the time, you know."  
  
"Well, I've been watching how you spend your time and wondering what you're thinking. I've never really paid that much attention before. Sorry if it freaked you out. You get a pretty rough deal here, don't you?"  
  
Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. Dudley had actually apologised to him, something he'd never ever done before. "I don't think your mum and dad would agree with that, somehow," Harry replied wryly. "Look, I'm going to have to finish this lawn, or your dad'll go mad at me."  
  
"Oh, yeah, sure, carry on. Here, let me get that for you." Dudley bent down, picked up the grass box and fitted it back to the mower.  
  
"Er, thanks," said Harry awkwardly, starting to wonder if he was going to wake up soon and find this was all some sort of strange dream.  
  
"Do you mind if I sit over here while you finish up?" Dudley asked, wandering over to one of the patio chairs.  
  
"No, that's OK," Harry replied, as he started mowing the lawn again.  
  
"So, do you have any friends at that school of yours?" Dudley called over, as Harry started cutting the lawn for the third and final time.  
  
"Yes, of course I do," Harry called back, puffing as he pushed the lawnmower along.  
  
"Oh yes, that red-headed bunch that picked you up last summer. Lots of them, aren't there?" commented Dudley.  
  
Harry just couldn't resist asking: "So how was that toffee? Did it take your tongue long to get back to normal?"  
  
Dudley visibly winced. "That really scared me, you know. Thought I was going to die. But that man, their dad, seemed to know what he was doing - once Dad let him get near me, that is. Only took a couple of seconds to shrink again after that. Suppose I deserved it really."  
  
Harry stared at this philosophical version of Dudley in disbelief. Could he really have changed as much as he seemed to have done? "Fred and George are great practical jokers - they're looking to open a joke shop when they leave school. They were looking for someone to practice on," said Harry by way of explanation. "And the effects are always temporary." Dudley looked uncomfortable, so Harry decided to change the subject. "So what this Nurse Rosie's daughter like?"  
  
"Nurse Brown?" said Dudley, starting to blush again. "Oh, I met her daughter - her name's Lavender - just before Easter. She goes to a boarding school up north somewhere, and her term finished a week before ours did, so her mum brought her to work with her. She's really pretty, and, I don't know, different to the girls around here. She actually had time for me."  
  
Just then, they heard the sound of the Dursley's car turning into the front drive. Dudley sprang up as if he'd sat on something sharp. "Don't tell Mum and Dad about this, will you Potter?" he said brusquely as he hurried back inside.  
  
Harry looked after him for a moment, then set to work again. A minute or two later, Uncle Vernon appeared at the back door. "Haven't you finished yet, boy? Hurry up or you won't get any tea. Have you seen Dudley?"  
  
"I think he's upstairs, sir," Harry replied.  
  
Dudley, mused Harry, as Uncle Vernon disappeared from view again. Had he really changed? And this Nurse Brown and her daughter, Lavender.Lavender Brown. No, that had to be pure coincidence. There must be lots of girls called Lavender Brown around.  
  
*  
  
As Harry lay in bed the following morning after another broken night's sleep, not really awake or asleep, something heavy landed on the bed beside him, causing him to jump. Hedwig had returned and dropped a package onto the bed. With a tired squawk, she retired to her cage, eating the scraps of bacon Harry had managed to put there the previous night, then settling on her perch with her head under her wing.  
  
"That was quick, Hedwig, you must be really tired," mumbled Harry, as he reached for his glasses and opened the package. Inside was one of Mrs Weasley's rich fruitcakes and a short note from Ron:  
  
Harry,  
  
Mum sent this cake just in case you needed it.  
  
About this week, we're really sorry, but we're off visiting Dad's  
sister and her kids in Wales from tomorrow until Wednesday, so we  
can't have you to stay here. Mum said she would have cancelled it for  
you if there'd been more notice. I'm really sorry. Hope you don't  
have to stay anywhere too dire. Couldn't be a lot worse than where  
you are, could it?  
  
We're back on Thursday, so let me know then how it's going.  
  
Ron  
  
Harry's heart sank. He couldn't go to The Burrow. At least he didn't have to think of a way to get Uncle Vernon to agree to him going any more. Maybe he'd manage to stay at Privet Drive after all.  
  
Later that day, Aunt Petunia walked into the lounge, a triumphant look in her eye. "I've finally sorted it out," she said to Uncle Vernon, who was reading the Sunday paper, "Harry can stay with Mrs Figg while we're away."  
  
"Didn't you try her before?" asked Uncle Vernon, looking up briefly.  
  
"I did, but she's been away, visiting some distant relative. She only got back yesterday. But she says she's more than happy to take Harry in until Saturday. It's all settled."  
  
"What about Hedwig?" asked Harry hesitantly. "Can I take her with me?"  
  
"Is that ruddy owl back?" scowled Uncle Vernon. "Well, it's certainly not staying here without you. Petunia?"  
  
"I did mention the pet owl to her," Aunt Petunia replied. "You know what an animal lover she is, all those cats of hers. Said she used to have an owl herself in her younger days. She seemed quite happy for Harry to take the creature with him."  
  
So that was it. He wasn't going to stay at Privet Drive. Harry hadn't actually been to Mrs Figg's house since he'd started at Hogwarts. The last time had been shortly before he had found out he was a wizard, when Dudley had been buying his Smeltings uniform. And although he'd often been left there when Dudley had been taken out for birthday treats, Harry had never had to stay overnight before.  
  
A sense of gloom descended on Harry as he remembered how he'd always disliked going to Mrs Figg's house. Her house smelt of cabbage and she had a large number of cats. She had insisted on every visit that Harry look through her album of photographs that showed pictures of every cat she'd ever owned or looked after. Harry could just imagine what it would be like to stay there: no proper food and cat hairs on all his clothes, for a whole five days.  
  
Aunt Petunia seemed to take satisfaction from the despondent look on Harry's face. "Thought we'd let you stay here, didn't you boy? Never mind, I'm sure you'll survive well enough at Mrs Figg's. You'd better go and pack your things."  
  
Suppose it could be worse, thought Harry, as he went upstairs to his room. But he also had a strange feeling that there was something he'd forgotten, something that was gnawing away at the back of his mind.  
  
*  
  
Tuesday morning arrived all too soon. It was a grey, rainy day, which did nothing to help lift Harry's spirits. The rain meant that he'd be cooped up inside Mrs Figg's smelly house with no means of escape, and the cats would probably all be inside too.  
  
The car taking the Dursleys to the airport was due to arrive at half-past- ten, and Aunt Petunia had told Harry she would walk him round to Mrs Figg's before this. Harry checked his bag one more time. He'd managed to smuggle a few items from under the loose board in his room into his bag after Aunt Petunia had checked what he had packed, including Mrs Weasley's fruitcake. He still had that feeling that he'd forgotten something, even though he'd checked everything several times. Now he knew how Neville felt looking at a bright red Remembrall.  
  
"Come on, Hedwig, in you get," he said, coaxing the snowy owl back into her cage and shutting the door. "I promise I won't drop you on the way round. Hope you like cats."  
  
Harry carefully carried Hedwig's cage and his bag down the stairs, to where Aunt Petunia stood waiting with her coat and shoes already on. All the Dursleys' suitcases were in the hall. It was amazing how three people could generate so much luggage for a five-day trip. It looked more like they were going for a month. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were sitting at the kitchen table finishing breakfast.  
  
"Come on then," she said sharply, opening the front door. Then she paused and called back, "Dudley, do make sure you finish your breakfast, won't you dear? You'll need your strength for the journey."  
  
Harry followed his aunt out into the pouring rain. Mrs Figg only lived two streets away, so it would only take a few minutes to get there. Aunt Petunia walked silently ahead of Harry, sheltered under her umbrella, while Harry struggled along behind her, his bag in one hand and an increasingly soggy-looking Hedwig in her cage in the other.  
  
Eventually they reached Mrs Figg's house, a run-down semi-detached house with an overgrown garden, and Aunt Petunia knocked on the door. Mrs Figg opened the door. She was a small, wizened old woman, her grey hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a tweed skirt and a bottle-green cardigan, with a faded grey apron over the top, and a couple of cats weaved in and out around her legs. "Hello my dears," she said, smiling at them over the top of her little rectangular glasses. "You'd better come inside out of the rain."  
  
Aunt Petunia stepped to one side to let Harry and Hedwig past her. "Thank you so much for looking after Harry for us, Mrs Figg, we really appreciate it. But I must rush straight back - I still have a bit of packing to do. Is there anything we could bring back from Italy for you?"  
  
"Well, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth, Petunia dear," Mrs Figg replied, "so some of those lovely sweets they make would go down very well, if you don't mind. As long as they aren't toffees."  
  
While Aunt Petunia and Mrs Figg were discussing sweets and making their farewells, Harry dropped his bag in the hall and carried Hedwig's cage into the lounge. It was a fairly dark room with heavy net curtains, a highly patterned Paisley carpet and an imposing marble fireplace. There were a couple more cats curled up on the old sofa. As usual, the smell of overcooked cabbage hung in the air. Harry put the cage down on a small table at the far side of the room, near the window to the back garden. He heard the front door close, and Mrs Figg came into the room.  
  
"You're a bit wet, aren't you Harry? Perhaps a nice cup of tea to warm you through?" she said, looking him up and down through her glasses.  
  
"Yes please, Mrs Figg," Harry replied politely.  
  
She disappeared into the little kitchen and came back five minutes later with a large mug of strong tea and a plate of biscuits. "Ginger nuts," she said, as she put them down on the coffee table. For some strange reason Harry's thoughts wandered to Ron and his family. Would his cousins all be redheads too, he wondered.  
  
Harry sat down in a cat hair-covered armchair and gratefully took the mug of tea. It was really warming after the rain and wind outside. Then a small white cat clambered over the arm of the chair and settled on Harry's lap.  
  
"Ah, I see you've found my latest addition," said Mrs Figg, settling herself at one end of the sofa. "His name's Albus - I named him after a dear old friend of mine."  
  
It was as if a firework had gone off inside Harry's head. That nagging feeling of having forgotten something, which had been bothering him since Sunday, suddenly blazed to the front of his mind, and then a hazy memory of the hospital wing at Hogwarts came into focus. He heard, like an echo in the distance, the sound of Professor Dumbledore's voice: "Sirius.You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher - the old crowd."  
  
Harry stared at Mrs Figg, aware that his mouth had dropped open. Realising how rude this must have looked, he pulled himself together, then asked tentatively, "Mrs Figg, is your first name Arabella?"  
  
Arabella Figg smiled and nodded slowly, a gleam in her eye that hadn't been there before. "I wondered how long it would take you." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Clauderweb  
  
Harry sat speechless in the armchair in Mrs Figg's lounge, unable to think of anything to say. He looked at the innocuous little old lady sitting in front of him, sipping her tea. She looked so eminently forgettable, so ordinary, that Harry could hardly believe that he had interpreted the situation correctly. Harry now distinctly remembered the conversations in the hospital wing a month ago, and Dumbledore had definitely mentioned the name 'Arabella Figg' as one of the 'old crowd'. And he could only assume that her response to his question meant she understood the significance of it.  
  
He cast his mind back over the many days he had spent at Mrs Figg's house when he was younger and the Dursleys had wanted him out of the way. He tried to think of any occasions that could have made him suspect sooner that she was not the ordinary, but slightly eccentric old lady that everyone took her for, but he found none. The thought that all these years Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been trying to keep Harry from anything 'abnormal' in their eyes, and yet had unwittingly left him in the care of a witch many times astounded him. And not just any old witch, but a friend of Albus Dumbledore's, one of the old crowd. Harry's head was buzzing with so many questions that he just didn't know where to start: Was she really a witch? Why hadn't she told him who she was before? Why did she live as a Muggle? Had she known about Harry all along? Was she still in contact with Dumbledore? The list seemed endless.  
  
It was Arabella Figg who eventually broke the silence. "Harry, my dear," she said in a slow kindly tone, her light blue eyes watching him steadily over the rim of her teacup. "I realise that this must come as a bit of a surprise to you, and I'm sure you have many unanswered questions you will wish to ask me. Albus told me you have an inquiring mind, and he thinks it's time for me to tell you some of what I know. But we have plenty of time for that, don't we? I think our first priority is to get you back to full health."  
  
So she had been speaking to Professor Dumbledore. And she had some answers for him. Harry felt the excitement welling up inside him in anticipation of what she might tell him. "But I'm OK, honestly," he said, eager to find out more.  
  
Arabella Figg's eyes narrowed slightly as she looked him up and down again. "You haven't been sleeping much, have you?" she said in a slightly brusquer tone. "Still getting nightmares about the Third Task, aren't you? Albus told me all about it," she added quickly, as Harry's mouth opened to ask how she knew. Harry nodded reluctantly. "And it doesn't help matters, the way Petunia and Vernon treat you either. Harry, I'm afraid your questions will have to wait until tomorrow. Right now you need to get some sleep, to get some strength back."  
  
"But Mrs Figg, I can't sleep for long because of the nightmares. And anyway, it's only eleven-o'-clock. If I go to sleep now, I'll be awake all night," Harry protested. But even as he spoke, he could feel his eyes smarting from weeks of accumulated tiredness.  
  
"Call me Arabella," she replied, standing up and taking Harry's empty mug from him. "Albus gave me some Dreamless Sleep potion for you. I believe you've had some before?"  
  
"Yes I have," Harry answered, watching her take the cups back into the kitchen. "Mrs. um, Arabella.did Professor Dumbledore arrange for me to stay with you?"  
  
"Well, he sent me straight back here when he heard that your aunt and uncle were going to Rome. It wouldn't have been safe for you to go to your friend Ron's house at the moment. Let's just say we engineered the situation slightly to our advantage," Arabella said, a twinkle in her eye. "Now, I'd better show you to your room. Follow me. Oh, and bring Hedwig with you, she will like it much better upstairs."  
  
Harry carefully picked up the owl's cage and followed her back into the hall and up the shabby staircase. Arabella Figg led him into a room at the back of the house, overlooking the back garden. It was very different to the dark, old-fashioned lounge downstairs. Instead it was a bright, airy room, painted gold, with rich red curtains and carpet. Gryffindor colours, Harry thought to himself. There was a modern pine wardrobe in the corner, a single bed, a chair, and a sink and mirror to the left of the window. A very comfortable room, and certainly much nicer than his room at Privet Drive.  
  
Arabella opened the wardrobe door and pulled out a long brass pole with a large, circular base and which was curved over at the top, ending in a hook. It was adorned with intricate carvings of birds along its whole length.  
  
"You can hang Hedwig's cage on here," she said, putting the stand down near the open window, "then she can come and go as she pleases. I used to have an owl myself many years ago and that's why I still have this stand. But Harry, I must ask you not to send Hedwig out with any letters while you are here. It would compromise my position."  
  
As he hung the cage on the exquisite stand and opened the cage door, Harry made a mental note to ask later what position it would compromise. Now didn't seem quite the right time to ask. Harry fetched his bag and unpacked his things into the empty wardrobe. Meanwhile Arabella bustled off and returned with a glass of water and a small vial of what Harry assumed must be the Dreamless Sleep potion. She asked him to change into his pyjamas, which he retired to the bathroom to do.  
  
"Into bed with you," she said chirpily, as he returned and deposited his clothes on the chair. Harry dutifully climbed into bed between the crisp white sheets. "Now, one drop per hour." She unscrewed the lid on the vial and let 4 drops fall from the dropper into the glass of water. Immediately it hissed, frothed and turned a violent shade of purple. "You'll need to drink it all in one draught, Harry. I'll bring you some food up when you wake, then you'll need to have another dose."  
  
Harry took the glass from Mrs Figg, took a deep breath, and then quickly drained it. It tasted just as sharp as the last time he'd had some at school. Arabella smiled, a warm friendly smile, took the empty glass from Harry's hands and left the room. Harry lay down and pulled up the covers as he felt the waves of drowsiness breaking over him. Yes, tomorrow could be a very interesting day.  
  
*  
  
Harry spent the rest of that day and night either in glorious, dreamless sleep or eating the trays of food that Mrs Figg appeared with shortly after he woke up each time. As soon as he'd eaten, she would hand him another glass of potion, and he'd drift off back to sleep again. He had to admit it was bliss to wake up feeling rested and refreshed for a change. He must have been more run down than he'd realised.  
  
When Harry woke up after his fourth dose of potion and saw the rays of sunshine pouring in through the window, he knew it must be morning again. He sat up and looked around him. Hedwig's cage stood empty, but he noticed a bowl of water and some scraps of food in the bottom of the cage. Mrs Figg - Arabella - must have fed Hedwig while he was asleep.  
  
The bedroom door opened, and Arabella Figg came in, carrying a breakfast tray. There was a large mug of tea and a plate piled high with bacon, eggs, sausages, toast, tomatoes and beans. To think he'd been worried that he might have to live on cabbage for four days!  
  
"Here you go, Harry," she said, placing the tray on his lap. "I think you've had enough sleep for now. When you've finished this, you'd better get washed and dressed. I'll be out in the back garden. Would you mind bringing the tray back down to the kitchen when you're ready?"  
  
Harry said that he would, and Arabella went downstairs again. He tucked into the pile of food enthusiastically. Arabella was a much better cook than he had imagined, and he hadn't had this much food in one go since the end of last term. Just then, Hedwig flew in through the open window and landed on the foot of Harry's bed. Harry picked up a piece of toast from his plate and offered it to her.  
  
"Hello, Hedwig. Are you enjoying this as much as I am?" he asked. She hooted softly in reply, took the proffered toast and flew back into her cage to eat it. Then she settled on her perch and tucked her head under her wing.  
  
When he had eaten every scrap of food on the plate, he got up and ran himself a bath. Lying in the hot, soothing water, his mind turned again to the strangeness of his situation. This must be the nearest thing to a holiday he'd ever had, Harry mused, ducking his head under the water and sending up a spout of water like a whale. Strange how holidays and the wizarding world didn't seem to go together easily in his mind - he couldn't really imagine Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall lying on a beach somewhere. And Snape, well he was so pale it looked like he spent all the holidays down in his dungeon as well as all term time. Even when the Weasleys had gone to Egypt a couple of years ago it had been to visit their son Bill, who worked as a curse-breaker for Gringotts Bank out there. No, it was much easier to think of them all as having a purpose, a task, even in their holidays. Which brought him back to his 'holiday' here and the remarkable Mrs Figg. The way she had spoken yesterday, it sounded as though she had quite an agenda for Harry's visit. He was dying to know what it was that Dumbledore thought she should explain to him.  
  
After Harry had finally got dressed, he carried the breakfast tray carefully down the stairs to the kitchen as he'd promised. From force of habit he cleared the scraps into the bin and washed up the plate, cup and cutlery.  
  
Arabella popped her head round the back door. "Ah, there you are, Harry dear. You needn't have done the washing up. I could have done that later. Come on out into the garden, the weather's beautiful today."  
  
Harry dried his hands and followed her out into the garden. She was right, it really was a lovely day. The sky was a bright blue, with just a few white, fluffy clouds drifting across it, and there was a light breeze that gently ruffled Harry's unruly hair. Arabella was wearing a pair of grubby black slacks, a loose, flowery blouse, a rather unflattering sunhat and the gaudiest gardening gloves Harry had ever seen. The back garden was just as overgrown as the front garden, except for the bit near the patio, where a selection of well-tended tubs of plants surrounding the plastic table and chairs were in full bloom. Judging from the bag of compost, the trowel and the pile of pots in one corner, Arabella had been re-potting some of the plants.  
  
She pointed to the table, which already had two glasses of lemonade on it, and the familiar photo album he'd looked through so often before. "Let's sit down over here, Harry. I've done enough gardening for now, and I'm sure we have plenty to talk about, don't we?" she said, as she slowly walked over and sat down in one of the two chairs. Harry sat in the other, feeling a bit awkward, as if he were just about to sit an exam. "Where shall we start then?"  
  
Harry thought quickly over the hundreds of questions that were now crowding his head again and decided.  
  
"Arabella, when we first went up to my bedroom, you said I shouldn't send Hedwig out with any letters because it would compromise your position. What did you mean by that?"  
  
Arabella's light blue eyes twinkled as she shifted in her chair, as if getting comfortable before a long story. "Quite simply because I need to appear to be a Muggle, even to any wizards or witches who might be looking on. The neighbours might attribute having owls that flew around with bits of paper on their legs to my usual dottiness, but anyone in the magical community would spot what it meant immediately. And that could be dangerous. I need to be incognito."  
  
"But why do you need to be incognito? It's not anything to do with me, is it?" The questions were clamouring to burst out of Harry's mouth now, jostling and vying for attention. Just then Harry noticed Mrs Figg's neighbours coming out of their house into the garden. They waved cheerily to Mrs Figg, and she waved back. "Er, Arabella, do we need to go inside to talk if they're out in the garden?" he asked, motioning to the neighbours with his head.  
  
"Not at all, dear," Arabella replied. "I've taken the liberty of securing the garden with a variation of the Silencing Charm. They cannot hear a thing we are saying. Instead they just hear us talking about mundane things like plants in the garden or the cats. That's why the album is out here. So, yes, why am I incognito."  
  
Harry listened intently as Arabella explained to him how she had lived in this house as a Muggle since the day after Harry had gone to live in Privet Drive, the day after Voldemort's downfall, on Dumbledore's instructions. (Harry was quite pleased to note that she used Voldemort's name without the slightest trace of apology or apprehension.) As she was Muggle-born herself, she had found no problem in acting and dressing inconspicuously. The house was apparently a Ministry Standard Muggle House Type 3 used for such operations by the Department of Mysteries and designed for the older person, and a few memories had been modified to ensure that her story of returning to her old home from a lengthy time abroad could be substantiated. Her remit was to watch over and protect Harry from any possible Death Eater attack. Apparently this had been what Dumbledore had feared most in the aftermath of Voldemort's downfall, that some of his followers might try a revenge attack on Harry.  
  
"And there were a few attempts, all unsuccessful of course," Arabella remarked, pausing to sip her lemonade, "You've been very well protected, you know, and in more ways than even I know."  
  
Harry pictured the tiny Mrs Figg in her brightly-coloured gardening gloves duelling huge Dark Wizards on the corner of Magnolia Crescent with her trowel and almost laughed at the thought.  
  
"So what form does this protection take?" he asked, pushing the comical image from his mind.  
  
"Well, there are layers of protection, and as I just said, I only know some of them. The biggest bit by far, and the one I am responsible for maintaining, is the Clauderweb."  
  
"The what?" Harry cut in.  
  
"The Clauderweb. It's a form of exclusion zone around Privet Drive that no witch or wizard can enter unless they have prior authorisation to do so. It stretches for two streets in all directions from Privet Drive. Quite similar to the protections around Hogwarts, actually, though a bit more stringent. Unauthorised wizards cannot apparate inside the zone, nor enter by Floo, air or ground. If anyone who is not authorised tries to enter, they simply get bounced off the web and land some miles away. It's a bit unfair on any unsuspecting wizards who wander in, though. There was one instance, about seven years ago now, when a wizarding couple was driving a Muggle car down to the south coast and drove through Little Whinging. The Ramsdens, poor dears. They hit the web quite hard and were bounced, car and all, into a cabbage field about nine miles away. They never did manage to work out what had happened to them.  
  
Until you went to Hogwarts, only Albus and I were authorised to enter. Since then we've had to authorise a few more to enter, without them knowing of course. Albus compiled a list of your closest friends for me toward the end of your first year. All of the Weasley family can enter, as can Hermione Granger and Rubeus Hagrid."  
  
"There have been a few problems, of course. The Clauderweb is very good at excluding undesirable witches and wizards, but other magical creatures are unaffected. It caused me quite a panic a few years back when a house elf got through to you at Petunia and Vernon's."  
  
"Dobby?" said Harry. "Could he have killed me if the Malfoys had commanded him to?"  
  
"In that case, no," Arabella replied. "House elves can do many things, but killing is not in their repertoire. He could, however, have forced you outside the Clauderweb's protection for Lucius to deal with. I've tightened up security somewhat since then, so I'm glad to say you won't be getting any more visits from Dobby or any other house elf or magical creature at Privet Drive."  
  
"You said there were layers of protection. What happens if I'm further away from Privet Drive, if I'm outside the Clauderweb?" Harry inquired further.  
  
"There is a lesser form of the Clauderweb, a hex deflection device, in place when you are out of the webzone with Petunia and Vernon. It doesn't stop other members of the magical community being nearby, but it does protect you from any spells they may cast. And they are just the two I know about. I do know that Albus has other protections in place as well, in case mine fail. But all of them only work while you are in Petunia and Vernon's care. Once you step outside that, you are vulnerable.  
  
A couple of years ago, when you ran away, you unwittingly left yourself open to attack. Sirius had tried a couple of times to get through the web to see you, but bounced off. At the time we thought he was trying to harm you. When you reached Magnolia Crescent and Sirius was there, the only thing I could think of was to summon the Knight Bus."  
  
"You summoned the Knight Bus?" Harry exclaimed. "I thought I'd done that by accident!"  
  
"Ah, that was what you were supposed to think," Arabella smiled and nodded. "Anyway, I think that's enough for you to take in right now." She stood up and grasped the empty lemonade glasses purposefully.  
  
"Just one more question," said Harry, also standing up. "Why do I deserve all this? What's so important about me?"  
  
Arabella paused. "Now I'm afraid that's something you'll have to ask Albus," she replied finally, carrying the glasses into the kitchen.  
  
Harry turned and gazed thoughtfully out over the tall grass and the overgrown bushes and shrubs. There was so much going on around him that he hadn't been aware of, so many things he hadn't understood until now. And, it seemed, still so much that he wasn't being told. Arabella had explained the mechanics of some of the protection around him, but she had not really explained why it was necessary. In fact, she had purposely avoided that question. It was this that really irked Harry: why him? He could understand the need for some protection at first, until everyone was sure Voldemort had really gone, and he knew he should be grateful for it now that Voldemort had returned. But why had Professor Dumbledore deemed such a high level of protection necessary for all these years in between? Was there really something that important about him? Or was it just a PR exercise to make the Ministry look good, that they'd acted to protect the Boy Who Lived? Except nobody, or very few, knew about it. But one thing was certain: Arabella Figg still knew far more than she was letting on. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
The Best Birthday  
  
Harry stayed in the garden for quite some time after Arabella had gone indoors, lost in his thoughts. When Arabella did reappear, she was carrying a large tray laden with salads, cold meats and pasties.  
  
"Lunchtime," she said brightly, placing the tray on the table. It didn't seem five minutes since breakfast, the time had flown by so fast, but now that she mentioned it, Harry did feel hungry again. He sat down at the table once more and gratefully loaded his plate with a bit of everything. Over lunch he and Arabella chatted about mundane things, such as the house, the garden, the weather and, of course, the cats. She seemed to have a very great affection for the cats that was definitely a lot more than just part of her 'cover'. Harry asked how many cats she'd looked after in the last fifteen years that she'd lived there.  
  
She thought for a moment or two and then replied, "One hundred and seventeen in all, I think. And I currently have twenty-one." That many! Harry now had no doubts as to why the photo album was so large.  
  
They finished lunch and sat in contented silence for a few minutes, watching the butterflies flit over the long grass that was going to seed. Then Arabella turned to Harry, a more serious expression on her face. He wondered what she was about to say, she looked so grave.  
  
Then she said, "Harry, to keep up appearances while you're here, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to do a few chores for me, otherwise Petunia will think I've been far too easy on you. It might arouse suspicion. I'm sorry to have to ask you, and I hope you don't mind."  
  
"Er, okay," Harry replied, quite relieved that it was nothing more serious. "What would you like me to do?" Not quite a holiday then.  
  
"From what my cats tell me, you like being outside, so maybe you could tame the front garden a bit for me - it's not too big, and the effect would be noticeable. But do let your lunch go down first, dear."  
  
From what my cats tell me. Did that mean what he thought it meant? But even as his mouth opened to ask the question, Arabella answered it for him. She seemed to have a knack of doing that.  
  
"Yes, Harry, the cats are my eyes and ears inside the web, and yes, I can understand them. Snakes aren't the only animals one can converse with, you know. Such overlooked creatures, cats are, and therefore so useful."  
  
"You can speak cat-language?" he asked, looking at her with renewed interest.  
  
"Yes, I can, my dear," she replied. "You can speak Parseltongue, and I can speak Felinargo. Like yours, it's quite a rare gift, and like yours it tends to be treated with a certain suspicion. People always seem to distrust what is out of the ordinary."  
  
"Could you show me? I mean, if you don't mind."  
  
Arabella smiled. Then she bent down and held out her hand to a large tabby cat that was emerging from the kitchen. Her lips parted, and the strangest sound emerged. It was a deep, rumbling noise that came directly from her throat, a purr, interspersed now and then with more nasal mewing sounds. It was a very odd experience for Harry, watching Arabella 'talk' to this cat, and he realised this must have been how Ron and Hermione had felt when they'd heard him speak Parseltongue at the duelling club in their second year. The cat, however, didn't seem to think it was odd at all. It approached Arabella and stood, face upturned towards her, purring and mewing in return. Then it looked around sharply at Harry, gave a short mew and headed indoors again. Arabella straightened up.  
  
"That was, um, amazing," said Harry, slightly in awe of her. "What did you actually say?"  
  
"Oh, I just asked Mr Tom how he was feeling today and what he thought of our guest," she replied, smiling again. "He said you smell friendly enough, but that you could do with a few of my special fish suppers to fatten you up a bit."  
  
"So how did you find out you could speak to cats? I mean, I didn't know I could speak Parseltongue until Ron and Hermione told me that's what I was doing."  
  
"I found I could when I was just a little girl," Arabella answered him. "I was about eight years old, and my parents bought me a kitten for Christmas. I just started talking to it straight away, without realising what I was doing, and telling my parents what it wanted. They, of course, were amazed and asked me what I was doing. It was then I listened to myself and realised I was talking a different language. Interesting how we can talk and not actually hear ourselves, isn't it? I didn't find out it was called Felinargo, or that it was so rare, until I went to Hogwarts. Anyway, you'd better make a start on that front garden soon, it might rain later."  
  
Harry spent the rest of the afternoon in the front garden, slowly clearing the weeds from the small flowerbed, turning over the hard soil underneath and pulling tufts of grass from the cracks in the path. Arabella headed off to the village centre to do some shopping, her wheeled tartan shopping trolley in tow. He didn't really mind doing this work for her. After all, she was being very good to him. And she was right: Aunt Petunia would be far less likely to ask questions if she could see that he'd been kept busy.  
  
*  
  
That evening, Arabella did indeed cook Harry one of her special fish suppers. It was a massive fish pie with a huge layer of creamy mashed potato, topped with grated cheese and grilled until the cheese had melted and crisped slightly. And it tasted delicious. Harry wasn't sure what sort of fish she'd used, but it was full of flavour and almost melted in his mouth. As he ate, he noticed an increasing number of cats coming into the room from all directions, weaving in and out among the tangle of table, chair and human legs.  
  
"Oh, don't worry about them, Harry," said Arabella, noticing where he was looking. "This is one of their favourites, and they're rather afraid you're going to eat it all! Of course, I've made enough for them too." She purred loudly to the hoard of cats, which immediately moved en masse towards the kitchen. "Please excuse me for a few minutes, while I serve their tea."  
  
After tea, Arabella let Harry take charge of the television remote control, something that he could never usually do at Privet Drive. He spent the evening watching all the sort of interesting documentaries that Dudley wouldn't touch with a bargepole, taking just one break mid-evening to sprint upstairs and fetch Mrs Weasley's rich fruitcake from his bag. Harry had brought it with him thinking he might need it to live on, but now he knew that Arabella was such an excellent cook, he decided to give her the cake as a token of appreciation.  
  
"My friend Ron's mum made it," he said, handing the cake to her. "I thought you might like it."  
  
Arabella's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Harry, I'm very partial to fruitcake. And Molly is supposed to be an excellent cook. Would you mind nipping into the kitchen and getting a couple of plates and a knife? We might as well try some now."  
  
"Do you know Mrs Weasley, Arabella?" Harry asked, returning with the plates.  
  
"By reputation only. We haven't actually met yet, though maybe we will someday soon."  
  
They settled back in their armchairs in front of the television, each with a large piece of fruitcake, to watch a programme on the secret life of dolphins.  
  
When Harry finally got into bed later that evening, he felt very full and very satisfied. It really had been an amazing day, in so many ways. His dreams that night took on a new shape: instead of bats, cages and green light, they were full of cats, fruitcake and trampolines made of spiders' webs.  
  
*  
  
Harry woke up the following morning with a strange but welcome feeling bubbling up inside him. It took him a few seconds to work out what this feeling was: he felt happy. It wasn't a feeling he'd had in a long time, probably not since some time before the Third Task. But it wasn't the sort of elation he'd felt after completing the First and Second Tasks either. It was a deliciously gentle, but unmistakeable contentment that seemed to fill his chest and overflow. He laid there, his hands clasped behind his head, watching the shafts of sunlight falling from the window light up the room, and basked in the warmth of the rays. He tried to analyse why he felt happy and concluded that it was a combination of being well fed and rested, and of being somewhere where there was no pressure to try to be something he was not. Arabella seemed to understand him and accept him as she found him. He began to wonder why he couldn't just stay here all summer, and not go back to the Dursleys. With a bit of luck, they wouldn't come back from Rome at all.  
  
Then he suddenly remembered what day it was. It was Thursday, and that meant it was the 31st - his birthday! Harry sat up quickly and looked around for Hedwig, wondering if she had brought any cards and presents from his friends, as she usually did, but she was sat in her cage preening herself, not an envelope or a package in sight. Then Harry remembered that he wasn't allowed owl post while he was here. Well, perhaps he would have to wait until Saturday back at Privet Drive for any post. Arabella probably didn't know it was his birthday either. Not that it mattered, Harry was used to not being able to celebrate his birthday properly. Indeed, the Dursleys never usually paid any attention to it at all, and it was only in the last couple of years, since he'd had friends at Hogwarts, that he'd received his first birthday cards. But even if Arabella didn't know, it was still likely to be the most pleasant birthday he'd ever had.  
  
Harry eventually got up, dressed and went downstairs to the lounge, where Arabella was sitting reading a Muggle newspaper. She looked up as he entered.  
  
"Good morning, Harry dear," she said, smiling and putting the paper to one side. "Come and sit down and I'll get you some breakfast."  
  
Harry sat down at the little table over near the back window, where a place had already been set for him, and watched a few of the cats lazing about in the sun outside the window. Arabella emerged from the kitchen carrying his breakfast on a tray: scrambled egg on toast and a mug of tea. Beside the plate on the tray, Harry noticed a few envelopes, and a wide smile broke out on his face. Birthday cards!  
  
"I understand congratulations are in order," she said, unloading the tray and handing him the envelopes. "These arrived for you first thing this morning."  
  
Harry picked up the envelopes, which were a variety of sizes and colours. The first one Harry recognised immediately from the neat handwriting as being from Hermione. It was a small card with a picture of a birthday cake on the front, and it played 'Happy Birthday' whenever the card was opened. But, true to Hermione, it wasn't the usual musical card Muggles sometimes buy. It was charmed to play the tune with full orchestral and choral backing. It sounded beautiful, but rather loud, so as soon as he'd listened to it once through, Harry shut the card and turned his attention to the next envelope. This was a rather large pink envelope with untidy handwriting on the front, and when Harry looked on the back, he saw a motif of two crossed wands emitting stars. The Beauxbatons crest? Harry opened the envelope curiously and found inside a card and note from Hagrid.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Happy Birthday! Hope you have a good day. Me and Olympe are still  
travelling round Europe. Plenty to do. Should be back in time for  
school on September 1st, but it'll be a close thing. I'll see you  
there.  
  
Take care,  
  
Hagrid.  
  
Harry didn't know exactly what Hagrid was doing in Europe with Madame Maxime, but he suspected that Dumbledore had asked them to go as envoys to the giants. He hoped they were being careful, as giants weren't reputed to be friendly, even to their own kind. The third and final envelope contained a card from Ron, which had a picture of his favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, on the front, zooming around on their broomsticks and waving at him.  
  
Harry stood all three cards up in the middle of the table and tucked into his breakfast, gazing at them and thinking about his friends. And he'd thought he wouldn't get any cards until he got back to Privet Drive! But if owl post wasn't allowed, how had these cards arrived? This puzzled him, so when Arabella came back into the room again, he asked her.  
  
"Well, I can't be totally cut off from the wizarding world, can I?" She answered mildly. "But I do have to be very careful about who knows where I am and why. So I have a contact person in the magical community who collects post for me and forwards it to me at a pre-arranged time each day by Floo Express. It's a dedicated link, so no one else can come to my fireplace by Floo, and I can only go to the one place from my fire. The owls have their own system of communicating special arrangements for post delivery, so they know where to leave my post. And if any owls try to come here instead, the cats intervene and redirect them. Does that answer your question, Harry?"  
  
Harry nodded, finishing the last mouthful of toast.  
  
Just then, the little white cat called Albus came tearing through the door from the kitchen, mewing frantically, and took refuge behind the sofa. Arabella looked slightly taken aback for a moment, reached for a walking stick that was hung over the back of the sofa and looked back round the door into the kitchen. Then her face broke into a beaming smile and she turned back to Harry, holding the door ajar.  
  
"You have a visitor, Harry," she said, as a large, black, shaggy dog trotted past her into the lounge.  
  
Harry recognised the animal at once. "Sirius!" he yelled in delight, jumping to his feet and starting towards it. The dog shook its head and transformed into his godfather, Sirius Black.  
  
"Harry!" he replied, striding across the room and giving Harry a bone- crushing hug. "It's so good to see you. You didn't think I'd miss your birthday, did you? Especially as you're on friendly territory this year." He turned and winked at Arabella. "So how are you, Harry? Has Bella been treating you well?"  
  
"I'm fine," Harry replied, "and Arabella has been wonderful. She's a really excellent cook, you know."  
  
"I know, Harry, I've been on the receiving end of a fair few fish suppers myself in the last month or so!" Sirius patted his stomach as he said this. Now that Harry looked closely at his godfather, he could see that Sirius had filled out a bit since they had last met. Not only had Sirius put on some weight again, which certainly suited him well, but he had also cut his hair, shaved and acquired some clean new robes.  
  
"Well, I think you two boys have plenty to talk about," said Arabella, heading for the hall, "so I'm going to collect my pension and go to the coffee morning at the village hall. Do help yourselves to drinks and food from the kitchen while I'm gone."  
  
After Arabella left, Harry and Sirius settled themselves down in the lounge with the rest of Mrs Weasley's fruitcake and a pot of coffee and talked. This was what Harry had wanted most, what he had often dreamed of, to have someone to talk to freely, who was older and would understand, to have someone like a father in his life. He savoured every moment, hung on every word, as Sirius explained what he had been doing since he had left the hospital wing at Hogwarts just over five weeks before.  
  
Sirius had done exactly as Professor Dumbledore had requested; he had made contact with a number of witches and wizards who had worked closely with Dumbledore against Voldemort at the height of his power, including Arabella Figg and Remus Lupin. Many of them had initially been very suspicious of Sirius, and it had taken some time, and in one or two cases an owl from Dumbledore himself, before they accepted what he told them about Voldemort's return and the status of Peter Pettigrew. His base had been at Lupin's cottage on Dartmoor.  
  
"Remus sends his greetings, Harry. He says he would have come to visit you today as well, but the time of the month did not permit," said Sirius, with a wry smile.  
  
"How is Professor Lupin - I mean Remus?" Harry asked. It seemed strange to Harry to be talking about teachers, past or present, on first name terms. He had very fond memories of Professor Lupin's classes at Hogwarts in his third year and had been very sad to see him leave. He had certainly been the best genuine Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher they'd ever had.  
  
"Oh, he's OK," Sirius answered with a sigh. "But he hasn't found any work since he left his job at Hogwarts. No one wants to take on a werewolf, even if the condition can be controlled by Wolfsbane potion. His parents left him a house and enough gold for the first few years after they died, but to say his finances are tight now is a bit of an understatement. These terrible things always seem to happen to the gentlest and nicest people. So, what about you, Harry? How have you been since I saw you last?"  
  
Harry began to recount everything that had happened since that night in the hospital wing after the Third Task, including the bits he'd already mentioned in his letters to Sirius: about the Leaving Feast, the reactions of the other students towards him, Rita Skeeter's capture, Draco Malfoy's comments on the train home, and the nightmares he'd been having since arriving back at Privet Drive. He also told Sirius about the Dursleys' trip to Rome and Dudley's strange behaviour.  
  
"Better be careful there, Harry," Sirius commented. "A leopard doesn't change its spots easily. It wouldn't take much to undo the good this nurse seems to have done, so the less ammunition you give him to use against you later the better."  
  
They also talked at length about Cedric Diggory and the guilt that Harry still felt about his death. They went through the last part of the Third Task again, blow by blow, from Harry rescuing Cedric from Krum onwards, analysing who should have got to the Cup first.  
  
"If I hadn't stopped to help Cedric, then he wouldn't have got to the Cup at all."  
  
"If you hadn't stopped to help him, then he might have been killed anyway. Krum was acting under the Imperius curse, and who is to say that the next order he followed might not have been the Killing Curse. You did the right thing."  
  
"And then that giant spider - I tried to stop it attacking Cedric and it turned on me. If I hadn't, then I would have got to the Cup first, and Cedric would just have been hurt. He wouldn't have died."  
  
"You don't know that, Harry. You just did what was right and noble at the time, as did Cedric. Hindsight can be a terrible thing, and none of us ever get to know what would really have happened if one bit changed. No one is blaming you for this, Harry, not in the least."  
  
"But I'm blaming me!" retorted Harry hotly, struggling to keep his voice steady. "And some of the others at school are blaming me, and Cho - I don't know how I'm ever going to face her again." His voice finally gave way, and he buried his face in his hands.  
  
Sirius placed his hand comfortingly on Harry's shoulder. After a pause, he said quietly, "You seem to care about this girl a lot, don't you Harry? I can't claim to be the world's best expert with women, but you're not going to get anywhere if you don't talk. Have you written to her at all this summer?"  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"Well, perhaps you ought to send Hedwig with a message after you get back to Privet Drive. She's bound to be taking Cedric's death hard as well, and the sooner you break the ice and start talking, the better the chance you have of at least being friends."  
  
Harry thought this sounded like good advice and wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself. Sirius changed the subject slightly, obviously feeling that lighter conversation was called for if Harry was to enjoy his birthday. "You've mentioned this Cho a few times now. What's she like? How did you meet?" he asked with a mischievous smile.  
  
Harry told Sirius how Cho Chang had become Seeker for the Ravenclaw team in his third year and how it was then he'd noticed how pretty she was. Even as he spoke about her, his heart felt lighter. Then the conversation turned to Quidditch, which Sirius, it turned out, was as passionate about as Harry. Apparently he had been a Chaser in the Gryffindor team at the same time as Harry's father and had even considered going professional after he'd left school. They swapped stories of games they'd played and manoeuvres they'd seen and used for hours, until Arabella arrived back.  
  
"Goodness, are you two still sitting in here talking when it's such a lovely day outside?" she asked, looking surprised.  
  
"We've had some catching up to do, Bella," Sirius replied, "and the conversation would be rather one-sided if Harry had to spend all day talking to Snuffles, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Well I'm afraid I will have to ask you boys to spend the rest of the afternoon outside," said Arabella firmly. "I have some arrangements to make for a special meal this evening. Harry, why don't you take Snuffles for a walk and show him Privet Drive and your old school? It'll be the first time he's been able to go inside the web."  
  
"I know better than to argue with this young lady," Sirius said to Harry with a wink and a smile. "Why don't you show me around, and then you can tell me all about the first thirteen years of your life - I think I've a rough idea about the last two. Snuffles makes a very good listener, you know."  
  
Sirius transformed back into the large shaggy dog, and they set off down the street, Harry leading the way.  
  
*  
  
When Arabella finally let them back into the house early that evening, they found that she had been extremely busy. The lounge had been totally transformed: it was adorned with decorations and magically twinkling lights, and there was a big banner over the mantelpiece that read Happy Birthday Harry in continually changing colours. The little table seemed to have grown and was set with silver cutlery, napkins and a magnificent candelabra in the centre. Harry noted that there were five place settings, rather than the three he would have expected. He shot a quizzical look at Sirius, who just shrugged his shoulders in reply.  
  
"Come, sit down and have a drink while we wait for our guests to arrive," said Arabella. "Harry, here's some pumpkin juice for you. Sirius, can I offer you a sherry?"  
  
"Yes please, Bella," Sirius replied. "So who are we waiting for?"  
  
"Ah, you'll just have to wait and see," she said, tapping the side of her nose with her finger. "I've made some special arrangements."  
  
They didn't have to wait very long. As the clock on the mantelpiece struck seven there was a whooshing noise, and two figures shot out of the fireplace one after the other, landing in a heap on the hearth rug. As they got up and dusted themselves down Harry saw who had arrived: it was Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Hi Harry, Happy Birthday," said Hermione cheerfully, giving Harry a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Yeah, Happy Birthday," echoed Ron from behind her, looking around him. "Bit cloak and dagger, all this. We must have been through half the Floo network in the country to get here!"  
  
"Sorry about that," said Arabella, taking their coats from them, "but it was a necessary precaution - and it's all in a good cause."  
  
Harry thought he'd better introduce them all properly. "Ron, Hermione, I know you know Sirius, but you don't know Arabella, do you? This is Arabella Figg, who is looking after me while the Dursleys are away. Arabella, these are my best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."  
  
"Pleased to meet you." They all nodded and shook hands formally, still feeling slightly ill at ease.  
  
"Right, lets get this party started," said Arabella, clapping her hands together and leading them all over to the table.  
  
They took their places, and Arabella served the first course. But she didn't do everything by hand this time. She settled herself at the table and summoned each bowl and plate from the kitchen in turn, using her walking stick, which obviously contained her wand. As the food and drink flowed - and even Harry, Ron and Hermione were allowed some wine - so also did the conversation. The food surpassed anything Arabella had done to date, and Ron in particular had second helpings of just about everything. He even asked for recipes for some dishes to take home to his mum. Arabella was definitely in high party spirits; she charmed her hair to change colour every twenty seconds. And change colour it did: first yellow, then cerise, followed by fluorescent green and blue. She offered to do the same for the others. Harry, Hermione and Sirius took her up on it, but Ron decided to pass.  
  
When they couldn't eat another mouthful, they settled down into the armchairs and played a few games of Exploding Snap, swapping funny stories of life at Hogwarts all the while. Most of Ron and Harry's stories consisted of Fred and George's practical jokes, of which there were many, while Sirius related tales of some of the pranks he and James had played. Even Arabella had a few tales to tell, of sneaking around the castle at night, and of raising Niffler pups in a box under her bed, until they escaped and wrecked the entire dormitory.  
  
"Goodness me, look at the time!" Arabella exclaimed a while later. "It's nearly ten-o'-clock. You two have to leave in twenty minutes. I think it's time for the cake and presents now."  
  
With a wave of her walking stick, Arabella dimmed the lights and summoned a huge cake from the kitchen. Harry gasped. It was in the shape of a Quidditch pitch and had fifteen candles round the edges on top of the spectator stands. Tiny figures on broomsticks were zooming around above the pitch.  
  
"Wow, thank you!" Harry said softly, gazing at the cake, then at his friends around him. He took a deep breath and blew out the candles, and they all cheered.  
  
Then came the presents. Hermione gave Harry a heavy parcel that was unmistakeably book-shaped. There were two books in it, Which Witch and Which Warlock.  
  
"I thought you might find these useful background reading, especially as you don't have much grounding in who's who in the wizarding world, Harry," she said. " Oh, and you're on page 120."  
  
Ron's present contained a Quaffle and a pair of Quidditch gloves. "Remember to bring them with you if you're allowed to come to our place so we can practice. I'm hoping to try for the team this year."  
  
Finally Sirius presented Harry with a small black box. Inside was a leather armband with a green stone set in it.  
  
"This is a Monerband, Harry. You wear it on your upper arm, like so." Sirius put the band round Harry's left arm and fastened it. "If you want to let me know that you are in danger or that you need to see me urgently, you press your hand on the stone and say monero. I have the other band on my arm, and it glows red when you've activated it. It also acts as a tracking device, so that I can find where you are if necessary. I know it's rather a practical present, but I do want to be there for you when I'm needed. Now, let's see you try it."  
  
Harry clasped his right hand over the green stone and said, "Monero." The stone instantly turned red. Sirius pushed up the sleeve of his robe to reveal the band on his arm, which was also glowing red. "So how do I turn it off again?" Harry asked.  
  
"You just say demonero," Sirius replied.  
  
"Demonero," Harry repeated, with his hand on the stone. The stones on Harry and Sirius' arms turned back to green. "Thanks Sirius. That's a great present. Hope I won't need it much though."  
  
"I'm afraid it really is time for Ron and Hermione to head home now," Arabella cut in. "The Floo link is only open for a short while, so we have to be punctual."  
  
Harry fetched Ron and Hermione's coats, and they took their leave, each taking a pinch of green powder from the snuffbox on the mantelpiece, throwing it onto the fire and stepping in.  
  
Then Sirius said, "I'm afraid I must go now as well. Remus will need some company tonight. Harry, I've really enjoyed spending the day with you. Let's hope it won't be too long before we see each other again." He gave Harry another hug, kissed Arabella lightly on one cheek, took a pinch of Floo powder and left.  
  
Harry looked around at the now quiet lounge, at the decorations and the dirty plates on the table. "Thank you so much for arranging all this, Arabella. It's been a really wonderful day. Can I help you tidy up?"  
  
Arabella shook her head, her hair changing from pink to green as she did so. "No, Harry dear, I'll do it. It's my present to you. I'm glad you've enjoyed it. Now, why don't you take some of these scraps upstairs for Hedwig."  
  
Harry took the food upstairs, put it in Hedwig's cage and got ready for bed. He stared at himself in the mirror, watching his hair change colour and thinking back over the day with Sirius and the party. It really was the best birthday he'd ever had. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Going Home  
  
The last full day at Arabella Figg's contained no more surprises, just more pleasant companionship, food and gardening. By lunchtime on Saturday the small front garden looked quite respectable, and Harry had even had time to cut half of the grass in the back garden, which pleased Arabella no end.  
  
But it was with a heavy heart that Harry sat at the table on the patio that day, having lunch with Arabella. Aunt Petunia was due to collect Harry sometime after three-o'-clock that afternoon, and he was not looking forward to it in the least. A last meal for the condemned, he thought to himself grimly, picking at the salad with his fork, but not eating it. Arabella watched him thoughtfully.  
  
Finally she broke the silence. "Have you enjoyed your stay here, Harry?"  
  
Harry managed a weak smile as he glanced up at her. "Yes, of course I have. You've been really, really kind, and I've had the best birthday ever. It's just.it's just."  
  
"It's just that you don't want to go back to Petunia and Vernon's," she finished the sentence for him. "I don't blame you really, Harry. They're not exactly the most tolerant people in the world. But they are your only living relatives. And no matter what you may think of them, it is better that you've lived with them and know them for what they are, than have never known them at all."  
  
This annoyed Harry. He wanted to protest that he would rather have lived in an orphanage than with the Dursleys, that he would rather have never known them at all, but Arabella continued.  
  
"And, as I've mentioned before, some of the protection Albus has placed around you all these years only works while you are in the care of blood relatives. I'm afraid you do have to go back. It's quite simply the safest place for you, especially as we have no idea at the moment what Lord Voldemort's plans are."  
  
There was an awkward silence for a minute, during which Harry sulkily stabbed a sausage roll and Arabella gazed down into her teacup. Then she added, quite slowly and deliberately, "We have received news of increasing Death Eater activity, even if we don't know where Voldemort himself is at the moment. It's for that reason - and I know you're not going to like this, Harry - but I'm afraid you cannot go to The Burrow at all this summer. It's just too risky."  
  
He couldn't go to The Burrow? Four weeks left at the Dursleys, not just two? Harry felt like his last lifeline had just been severed. He pushed his plate away from him, scowling, got up and stalked indoors and upstairs to his room.  
  
His partially packed bag lay open on the bed, with a few clothes and other items scattered around it. Harry folded some of the clothes into the bag, carefully stowing the books that he'd smuggled in from the Dursleys between the layers so they wouldn't be immediately visible to Aunt Petunia's sharp eyes. Then he picked up the quaffle and gloves that Ron had given him for his birthday. He slipped the gloves on and tossed the ball lightly from one hand to the other. He smiled as the memory of his party just a couple of days before flitted across his mind. But the pleasant memory was quickly replaced by pangs of guilt. Arabella had shown him nothing but kindness over the last five days, and she had really gone to a great deal of trouble to organise his birthday party for him, especially the complicated travel arrangements for Ron and Hermione. And now he had repaid her by taking out his bad mood on her, by sulking and storming off, when it wasn't her fault at all. Harry sighed, tossed the quaffle and gloves into the bag and headed back downstairs to apologise.  
  
But as Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard voices. Arabella was talking to someone in the lounge. Surely the Dursleys couldn't be here already? Instead of walking straight into the lounge, Harry quietly approached the door, which was ajar, and listened intently, tuning in to the conversation that was taking place. He also pressed one eye as close as possible to the crack in the door to try and see who was there. What he saw, however, was not Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. Arabella was kneeling down beside the fireplace, and in the grate was the head of Albus Dumbledore. Harry had seen wizards do this a couple of times before, but it still never ceased to amaze him.  
  
".and he's just stormed off upstairs. I'm afraid he's taken the news quite badly, Albus," said Arabella with a sigh. "Is there no way we can review security at The Burrow to allow Harry to go?"  
  
The head of Albus Dumbledore shook. "No, Bella, the inconvenience for Arthur and Molly would be considerable. And even if we did, I'm not sure it would be wise after last week's attack on Elisha Mossop in Epsom. He's recovering well enough at St Mungo's, but it does prove the Death Eaters are getting more and more active, particularly in your area. Even Cornelius couldn't muzzle The Daily Prophet on that occasion. It wouldn't surprise me if you had an attempt or two on Harry to deal with before the month is through. It is vital that he is kept safe."  
  
"He understands so little of his history and his importance. When are you going to tell him, Albus? Surely it isn't fair to keep the boy in the dark when so much depends on him?"  
  
"Little by little, Bella my dear," Dumbledore replied. "He knows some parts already, and you have added a few more pieces of the picture over the last few days. He needs to digest those before he will be ready for more. He will know soon enough, I promise you."  
  
"Alright Albus, it's in your capable hands as ever. But as he has to stay at Petunia and Vernon's, isn't there something we can do to improve conditions for him? Things really have been quite intolerable. Quite frankly, I'm surprised he's turned out as well as he has."  
  
Dumbledore chuckled slightly and smiled at her. "You really are the most kind-hearted woman I know, Bella. But in my humble opinion, it is, at least in part, the School of Hard Knocks that has made him the extraordinary person he is." Arabella tutted and shook her head, so Dumbledore added, a twinkle in his eye, "However, I'm sure a woman with your ingenious mind can think of a few ways to lessen his discomfort without compromising security. I'm afraid I must dash now, but I'll contact you later to let you know when the Order is meeting next. Do take care, Bella."  
  
"I will, Albus, I will." With these words, Arabella leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then there was a faint pop and Dumbledore had gone.  
  
As Arabella got back to her feet, Harry realised he had better move before she found out that he'd been eavesdropping. He quickly and quietly retraced his steps up the stairs, then turned and walked down again as loudly as he could. This time he walked straight into the lounge, where Arabella was now sitting in an armchair, deep in thought.  
  
"I - I'm sorry, Arabella," he said, avoiding her eyes as she looked up, "I shouldn't have sulked or run off like that. I know it's not your fault that I live with the Dursleys or that I can't go to The Burrow. I was just really disappointed. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Sorry."  
  
Arabella paused for a second, frowning slightly, then said, "That's alright, Harry. I understand it's hard on you. I've been thinking, and I may be able to sort out a couple of ways of getting you out of the house a bit more while you're at Privet Drive, but I can't promise anything."  
  
A smile broke out on Harry's face. "That would be excellent!" he said.  
  
"You'll have to leave it with me, and I'll see what I can do," Arabella continued. "But I must warn you, it might not be your ideal choice of things to do. I'll let you know as soon as I can. Now, back to the matter in hand. Petunia will be here in little over an hour to collect you, so you need to ensure that all your things are packed, and that your birthday presents are well concealed. Also, you need to start calling me 'Mrs Figg' again, just for appearances. It would also help if you could look like you've looked all morning when Petunia gets here - like you've had the worst time in the world."  
  
Harry grinned sheepishly. Had he really looked that bad? "Yes, Ar - Mrs Figg," he replied.  
  
"Good boy," she said, smiling back. "Oh, and when you get back, send a letter to Molly Weasley asking her to get your books and school supplies from Diagon Alley for you and authorising her to take the money for it from your vault. That's something else you won't be able to do this summer."  
  
*  
  
One hour later, Harry sat on the bed in his Gryffindor-coloured room, his bags packed, Hedwig in her cage on the floor, ready to go. He was sifting through the conversation he'd overheard, wondering what it was that Albus Dumbledore was putting off telling him, when the doorbell rang. Harry crept out onto the landing and listened as Arabella Figg answered the door. Arabella invited Aunt Petunia in.  
  
"Hello, Petunia dear. Did you all have a good time in Italy?" she asked, as Aunt Petunia stepped inside.  
  
"We did, thank you Mrs Figg, most successful," Aunt Petunia replied. "And we brought this back for you as a token of our appreciation for looking after Harry."  
  
She handed over a large ornate jar of sweets with a big red ribbon and rosette round it.  
  
"Thank you, Petunia, that's very nice of you. Harry's been no trouble at all."  
  
"Really?" Aunt Petunia looked at her doubtfully.  
  
"Yes, and as you saw on your way in, he's done a marvellous job on the front garden while he's been here. He started on the back too, but didn't have time to finish it. Pity really," she added, looking absent-mindedly down at a cat that was rubbing against her leg. "I do find it difficult to keep abreast of the gardening these days. It's my knees, you know, they're not as strong as they used to be."  
  
"Well - maybe -," Harry could almost see the thoughts ticking over in Aunt Petunia's brain from his vantage point on the landing, "I suppose as Harry has started doing the back garden, he ought to finish the job. Perhaps he could come round one afternoon this coming week to finish it off?"  
  
"Oh, that's very kind of you, Petunia. If you're sure it wouldn't be too much trouble. Shall we say Wednesday afternoon?"  
  
*  
  
So for the rest of the summer Harry spent every Wednesday afternoon at Arabella Figg's house, doing the gardening. Arabella made sure that Aunt Petunia could always see enough work left to do the following week to ensure the visits continued. These times were the highlight of Harry's week, especially as Arabella laid on lots of food for him to supplement his meagre diet at the Dursleys'. He had hoped to be able to glean some more information or news from the wizarding world from her during these visits too, but none was forthcoming.  
  
Arabella also managed to persuade Aunt Petunia to volunteer Harry to help at the Over-50's coffee morning each Saturday at the village hall. Harry wasn't that enamoured with the prospect of setting out and clearing away tables and chairs and of serving endless cups of tea and coffee each week to groups of little old biddies who talked of nothing but the weather and the local gossip, but as Arabella was quick to point out to him, at least it was a Dursley-free zone.  
  
The combination of his gardening chores at Arabella's and the coffee mornings did give Harry more chances to escape the scrutiny of the Dursleys than he had ever had before, and for this he was grateful. He also found that just knowing of Arabella's existence meant that he didn't feel so isolated any more.  
  
These improvements aside, life at number four Privet Drive remained largely unchanged. The business deal with the Italian clients had been successfully signed off, and this meant that Uncle Vernon was especially busy at work, often working late into the evenings. Aunt Petunia took great delight in mentioning the international business connections to the neighbours at every opportunity.  
  
Dudley, however, seemed to be wavering between his old bullying self and his newfound desire to broaden his social awareness. Once or twice just after they'd returned from Italy, Dudley fell back into his old habits and thumped Harry when he didn't get out of the way quick enough. Harry noted that this seemed to meet with Aunt Petunia's tacit approval and suspected that she had been working on him to counter the effects of the school nurse's counselling sessions. Yet at other times, he said thank you when Harry passed things to him and passed the time of day with him when his parents weren't around. Harry was conscious of the advice Sirius had given him on his birthday and tried to make sure he didn't give much away to Dudley, just in case.  
  
Once or twice when Harry picked up the post from the doormat in the mornings, there would be a lilac-coloured envelope for Dudley, which Dudley would promptly pocket and disappear upstairs with. Perhaps he was getting letters from Nurse Brown over the holidays, thought Harry, or maybe even from the daughter. Whoever they were from, Dudley was certainly making sure his mother didn't see them.  
  
One Tuesday morning, towards the end of August, Aunt Petunia went shopping to a nearby hypermarket, leaving Harry at home cleaning the silver cutlery. She only made these trips once every two to three weeks, and they were always lengthy affairs that took several hours. Not that Harry minded this, as it meant he had a few more hours' respite where she wouldn't be watching his every move.  
  
As Harry finished polishing the knives and started on the forks - always the worst bit in his opinion - Dudley came down the stairs, dressed in his smartest clothes, his hair neatly sleeked into place with ample quantities of hair gel. Harry could smell the aftershave even before Dudley reached the kitchen door.  
  
"Has Mum gone out yet?" Dudley asked, standing in the doorway.  
  
"Yeah," Harry replied, looking Dudley up and down. "So what's with the clothes? Got yourself a hot date or something?"  
  
Harry realised he'd hit the jackpot when Dudley immediately went bright red.  
  
"Who's the lucky girl, then?" he enquired further, trying to suppress a smile, and thinking that 'lucky' wasn't exactly the right word for her. 'Deluded' probably would have fitted better.  
  
Dudley looked flustered and seemed undecided at first whether to tell him or not. Eventually he said, "You've got to promise not to say anything to Mum and Dad, and you've got to stay out of the way while she's here."  
  
"I will if you tell me who she is," Harry replied calmly, holding his cousin's gaze.  
  
"Oh, alright then," Dudley said, scowling at him. "It's Lavender - Lavender Brown, you know, the school nurse's daughter. We've been writing to each other for a couple of months now, and she's coming round to see me at half-past-ten. Wanted to see where I live for some reason. Now, you will keep out of the way, won't you? And if you let it slip to Mum and Dad, I'll.I'll kill you with my bare hands."  
  
From the look on his face, Harry didn't doubt for a second that he meant it. He nodded in reply. Harry was quite interested in finding out what this Lavender was like, to see what sort of girl would actually go for Dudley, so he wasn't likely to do or say anything that would jeopardise his only opportunity to catch a glimpse of her.  
  
Half past ten came and went. Dudley paced nervously up and down the hall, hands clasped behind his back, and in and out of the lounge, peering out of the window every minute or two. Eleven-o'-clock arrived, but still no sign of Lavender Brown. By now, Dudley was looking extremely tense, his face purpling just like Uncle Vernon's. When Harry made the mistake of asking if he was sure she was really coming, he kicked a shoe forcefully at him down the hall. Finally, Dudley slumped down on the sofa, his face as black as thunder, reached for his Gameboy and started blasting armies of aliens into oblivion.  
  
Then the telephone rang. Dudley sprang to his feet, pushed roughly past Harry and picked up the receiver.  
  
"Hello?. Oh, hi Lavender. Aren't you coming over? I've been wai. Oh, oh, I see. Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you're feeling better soon. D'you think you'll get a chance to see me before you go back to school?. That's a shame. I'll send you a card.OK, take care. 'Bye."  
  
Harry watched as Dudley's face, which had lit up with excitement at the start of the conversation, slowly fell into despondency.  
  
"So she isn't coming then?" Harry asked, as Dudley replaced the receiver.  
  
"No, she had an accident on her way here - broke her ankle. She was ringing from the hospital to let me know. Probably won't get another chance to see her before Christmas now."  
  
"What school did you say she went to?" asked Harry, who by now had a niggling feeling that he was overlooking something obvious.  
  
"Don't know the name of it. Just that it's a specialist boarding school in Scotland." Dudley replied with a frown. "I'll have to ask her for the address in my next letter."  
  
With that, Dudley headed upstairs to his room, presumably to change back into his customary jogging bottoms and T-shirt before Aunt Petunia arrived home.  
  
Harry, meanwhile, sat thoughtfully in the kitchen fitting together the pieces of the puzzle in his mind. A girl called Lavender Brown - goes to a specialist boarding school in Scotland - quite pretty, Dudley had said - got hurt trying to visit him. Harry shook his head in disbelief at the unlikely idea that popped into it. This girl couldn't possibly be Lavender Brown from Hogwarts, could she? The Lavender Brown in Gryffindor? All the evidence pointed towards it. After all, Brown might be a common name, but Lavender certainly wasn't. And now that he thought about it, Lavender was fairly pretty, and she did indeed go to a boarding school in the north. To top it all, there was no way that Lavender Brown from Hogwarts would be able to visit Dudley, because of Arabella Figg's protections around Harry. And she certainly hadn't been in the list of authorised people Arabella had told him about. It all made sense - she'd bounced off the Clauderweb and broken her ankle!  
  
But what didn't make sense to Harry was why the Lavender Brown he knew would be at all interested in Dudley. This was why he'd discounted the idea when Dudley had first mentioned her: He just wasn't her type at all. The Lavender Brown he knew was very style-conscious, fond of make-up and jewellery, very concerned with looks and physique. He couldn't picture her even passing the time of day with someone like Dudley, let alone getting romantically involved. The very thought of it made Harry wince.  
  
But none of this could be proved one way or the other, not just yet. Harry realised how little he actually knew about Lavender Brown, despite being at school and in the same house as her for four years. Truth be told, Harry couldn't even remember if she was Muggle-born or not. He would just have to bide his time, wait until he was back at Hogwarts and try to find out then.  
  
*  
  
The summer holidays were now almost over. Harry had sent a letter to Mrs Weasley with Hedwig almost as soon as he'd returned to Privet Drive from Arabella Figg's to ask if she would mind getting his school supplies and some spending money for him from Diagon Alley. She had written back saying that she was more than happy to do so. She knew exactly which books to get him from Flourish and Blotts anyway, because he took all the same subjects as Ron.  
  
Apart from the message from Mrs Weasley, Harry hadn't had much owl post that last month at Privet Drive. He'd had the usual school letter containing the book list for coming year. He'd also had a short note from Hermione saying thank you for inviting her to his birthday party - not that he'd had anything to do with that at all - and letting him know that she was going on holiday for a couple of weeks and wouldn't be able to write. Sirius hadn't written to him at all, and Harry was starting to worry about where he was and whether he was safe or not. Now that he knew Sirius could get inside the Clauderweb, Harry had even been looking out for the familiar shape of the black dog on the street outside, but there had been no sign of him. Ron had been pretty quiet too and had only sent one cryptic note with Pigwidgeon about ten days before the end of August, which read:  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Sorry I haven't written sooner - been really busy. Have some news to  
tell you, but you'll have to wait until I see you at Kings Cross on  
1st September.  
  
Ron  
  
Harry frowned. No news directly from Ron since his party and now this - effectively still no news. Or at least a tantalising hint of some news. Harry wondered what it was that Ron couldn't tell him by letter and suddenly felt impatient to get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters to see his friends again.  
  
This was the only thing Harry still had to arrange for the start of a new year at Hogwarts: how to get to Kings Cross station. For the last three years, Harry had always been with the Weasley family when they went to catch the Hogwarts Express, so transport hadn't been an issue for him. And in his first year, Uncle Vernon had agreed to take him, but that had been mainly because he wanted to see Harry make a fool of himself trying to find the platform. Harry didn't particularly want to ask him again if he could help it.  
  
So on the last Wednesday in August, on his final gardening visit to Arabella's house, he asked Arabella for her advice on the matter.  
  
"Hmm," she said, stroking her chin with her hand and frowning slightly. "Let's go through the options one at a time and see what we come up with, shall we? Going by yourself on public transport is out of the question, I'm afraid. Much too risky in the current climate, because you wouldn't be under Petunia and Vernon's protection. The same applies to the Knight Bus. And of course I can't take you because it would draw too much attention to me. Well, if you really don't want Vernon to take you himself, perhaps you could persuade him to order a taxi for you. That way it would be something he has sanctioned and you would still be protected. But that's really all I can suggest."  
  
"Hmph, he's hardly likely to do that, is he?" Harry replied darkly. "Look, is all this protection really necessary? It'd only take an hour or so to get to Kings Cross from here. What could happen in that short a time? I mean, I know you've said the Death Eaters are more active than usual, but that doesn't mean they're hanging round the edge of the web twenty-four hours a day waiting for me to put a foot wrong, does it?"  
  
"Don't you be so sure," said Arabella, equally as darkly. "Voldemort suffered a severe disappointment when you escaped him last time, and that makes you a trophy for any Death Eater trying to make a good impression on his or her master."  
  
Put like that, Harry could see the logic, though he did feel there was at least a bit of overkill in the methodology. But as so much effort had been put into his protection, Harry didn't think he should throw it back in their faces. Uncle Vernon it had to be.  
  
*  
  
Over the next couple of days, Harry looked for opportunities to talk to Uncle Vernon about getting a lift to Kings Cross station, but none presented themselves. His resolve was strengthened, however, by something that happened on Saturday morning.  
  
It was Harry's last time to help out at the Over-50's coffee morning. He had arrived on time and set everything out as usual. Just over halfway through the morning, when he got a break from serving coffee, he looked around and realised that Arabella, who usually sat in the far corner with Mrs Buttle and Mrs Pearson, was not there. Very curious, thought Harry, especially as her parting greeting that Wednesday had been 'see you on Saturday'. So under the guise of collecting used cups for washing up, he made his way slowly to the back of the hall, where Mrs Buttle and Mrs Pearson were lamenting the state of the world.  
  
".terrible thing to happen, Vi, and so near to home too," Mrs Pearson was saying as Harry came within earshot. "Things like that didn't go on when we were young."  
  
"Too true, Ethel, too true," Mrs Buttle replied, shaking her head.  
  
"Good morning, ladies," said Harry, approaching the table with a bright airiness that belied the concern he was feeling, "have you finished with your cups yet?"  
  
"Oh, hello young Harry. Yes, this one's empty, thank you dear," said Mrs Pearson, pushing the empty cup towards him.  
  
"Isn't Mrs Figg with you today?" he enquired further, as he put the cup and saucer onto the tray.  
  
Mrs Buttle and Mrs Pearson's eyes widened. "Ooh, haven't you heard, dear? We were just discussing it"  
  
"Heard what?"  
  
"Mrs Figg was attacked late last night - mugged. Mr Taylor found her on Magnolia Crescent about midnight while he was walking his dog. He says she was unconscious when he found her - must have taken a knock to the head or something. Battered and bruised she was too. Terrible thing to happen, terrible," Mrs Buttle said, shaking her head yet again.  
  
"Did they catch whoever did it?" asked Harry, his heart now racing much faster.  
  
"No dear, they didn't," Mrs Pearson continued. "The police searched the whole area of course, but the perpetrators had simply vanished. She's in hospital now, and we'll go over to see her this afternoon. It just isn't safe to go out alone these days. Now when I was a little girl, you could play out on the street at any time of day or night without a care in the world."  
  
Harry cut across her. "Well, when you go to see Mrs Figg, please would you pass on my regards and say I hope she recovers quickly?"  
  
"Of course we will, dear, of course we will."  
  
With that, Harry took his leave quickly, dropped off the dirty crockery in the kitchen and headed for the toilets. He shut himself in one of the cubicles and sat there, breathing heavily, trying to calm himself down. Arabella had been attacked. Was it a genuine mugging or something far more sinister? He somehow couldn't imagine her falling victim to a 'normal' mugger; she was far too resourceful for that. And what had she been doing out so late anyway? Had she been protecting Harry from attack by wizards and witches unknown, as he now suspected? It was this that upset him the most: that this gentle woman who had showed him so much kindness this summer would willingly risk her life to protect him - as his parents had done all those years ago. I'm not worth it, he thought angrily, how can I be?  
  
But one thing was sure: he needed to heed Arabella's advice and somehow get Uncle Vernon to take him to Kings Cross that Monday. Harry finally broached the subject after lunch on Sunday. Dudley and Aunt Petunia were somewhere upstairs, and Uncle Vernon was in the lounge reading the Sunday papers.  
  
"Uncle Vernon?" he asked hesitantly.  
  
Uncle Vernon's eyes only did the briefest of flickers up from the newspaper. Harry stood near the door, waiting for a response. "Well, what is it, boy?" Uncle Vernon eventually replied, without looking up.  
  
"I need to get to Kings Cross station tomorrow morning to get the train back to.er.to school."  
  
"So?" Harry could see his uncle's ears start to purple at the very thought of Harry's school.  
  
"And I was wondering if you could possibly give me a lift."  
  
The newspaper snapped down onto Uncle Vernon's lap sharply, as he looked up at Harry.  
  
"Left it a bit late to ask, haven't you boy?" he blustered. "Didn't think about whether it would be convenient for me, did you? Well, it's out of the question - I've got too much on at work to take time off to drive you into London."  
  
"If you can't take me yourself, perhaps you could order a taxi to take me?" ventured Harry.  
  
"Certainly not! You'll have to make your own way or not go at all!"  
  
Harry could see he wasn't getting anywhere, so he turned on his heels and went up to his room, where he spent the rest of the afternoon making sure that he had everything he needed for school packed in the trunk he had liberated from the cupboard under the stairs the previous night. There was no way he was going to stay here. He was going back to Hogwarts somehow, no matter what the risk. At least he'd tried to do things Arabella's way.  
  
*  
  
The following morning, after Uncle Vernon had already left for work, Harry sat in his room, his trunk shut, Hedwig asleep in her cage, wondering what to do. Making his own way to Kings Cross was problematic. Much as he could order a taxi, he had no Muggle money of his own to pay for it. And going by public transport would mean taking two different buses followed by a train journey, all of which he would have to pay for. It would also take too long - he'd probably miss the Hogwarts Express. He'd even considered the Knight Bus, but he wasn't sure if it was possible to hail it during the day. Even if he could, a bright purple triple-decker bus appearing out of nowhere in Magnolia Crescent would be sure to arouse suspicion.  
  
While he was sitting thinking, Dudley emerged from his room, wrapped in a bathrobe that barely met round his ample midriff. He stopped abruptly on seeing Harry surrounded by his school things.  
  
"You going back to school today, Potter?" he asked.  
  
"I'm supposed to be," Harry answered gloomily, "but I've no way of getting to London."  
  
Dudley paused for a few moments, looking thoughtful. Then he said hastily, "Leave it with me" and marched off downstairs. A few seconds later Harry heard raised voices coming from the kitchen. He crept downstairs as quietly as he could to better hear what was going on.  
  
".so you're going to let him stay here, while I have to go off to boarding school, are you?" Dudley was yelling at his mother. "Perhaps you like him better than me, wanting him to stay around..."  
  
Harry couldn't quite catch what Aunt Petunia was saying in reply, but he could hear the soft, placating tones she was using.  
  
"I want him out of the house now! This very minute!" Dudley continued, in full tantrum mode.  
  
A few moments later Aunt Petunia came scurrying out of the kitchen. Harry watched in amazement as she went straight to the telephone in the lounge and rang for a taxi. Dudley came out of the kitchen too, his face red from the effort of shouting so much.  
  
"You owe me for that, Potter," he murmured, as he pushed past an astounded Harry and headed back upstairs.  
  
*  
  
The taxi arrived ten minutes later, and Harry loaded his things into it, still hardly believing what Dudley had just done for him. He was going to make it to the station on time. And he was travelling under the protection of his relatives, just as Arabella had wanted.  
  
The taxi pulled up outside Kings Cross station at half-past-ten after an uneventful journey. Harry found a trolley and loaded his things onto it. As he walked through the station concourse, he spotted Mrs Weasley's familiar red hair in the distance and smiled to himself. At last he was going home. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Pasties and Prefects  
  
Molly Weasley spotted Harry in the distance as he walked towards her, and smiled and waved to him cheerily.  
  
"Oh, I'm so glad you're here, Harry. I was quite worried you wouldn't be able to arrange any transport," she said, giving him a motherly hug, which Harry gratefully received. It was still felt very strange to be hugged, but it was a welcome feeling too. "Arthur will be relieved too - he was quite prepared to drop everything at the office to come and fetch you, but Dumbledore didn't seem to think it necessary. Now, here are your books and supplies."  
  
Mrs Weasley handed Harry two large bags, containing his school books, a couple of new black robes (Harry had outgrown the ones he had worn the previous year) and an assortment of wrapped brown packages, which Harry assumed contained his potions supplies and stationery. She also handed him a money pouch.  
  
"Thanks very much," he replied, carefully stowing money pouch in his pocket and the bags in the basket at the back of the station trolley. He decided it wouldn't be wise to put them in his trunk here, in view of everyone else in the station. That would wait until he was safely on the train. "Where's Ron?"  
  
"The others have already gone through the barrier, Harry dear. They'll be waiting for you on the train. Shall we go and find them?"  
  
They walked casually along platform nine, then drifted towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The usual Muggle trains, people and noises disappeared behind them, and the familiar scarlet steam engine materialised before their eyes as they passed through the apparently solid barrier onto platform nine and three-quarters. This really was second nature to Harry now. He smiled as he remembered how he'd had to shut his eyes and run fast the first time he had done it.  
  
Platform nine and three-quarters was crowded with Hogwarts students of all shapes and sizes, hundreds of them, saying goodbye to parents and struggling to get their trunks up the steps into the carriages. Here and there Harry could see small unfamiliar faces, very obviously first-years, looking about them wide-eyed, a mixture of excitement and trepidation written on their faces. On top of the hum of the children's voices were the hoots of numerous owls and the complaining sounds of cats that were objecting loudly to being kept in baskets and cages.  
  
"They should be down the far end somewhere," said Mrs Weasley, straining to see over the heads of the people round them. "They wanted to get good seats."  
  
Harry looked too and eventually spotted Ron's bright red hair gleaming in the sunlight about two-thirds of the way down the platform. Pushing his trolley ahead of him, Harry ploughed a path through the throng towards him, Mrs Weasley following in his wake.  
  
As he approached, he saw not just Ron, but also Ginny, Fred, George and Hermione, all standing together. As soon as she saw him, Hermione waved and ran up to meet him, her face glowing with excitement.  
  
"Harry! Good to see you!" she said breathlessly. "You'll never guess what - I'm a Prefect!" She eagerly showed Harry the silver badge she was wearing.  
  
Harry smiled. "That's great, Hermione, congratulations." He didn't say it, but he was hardly surprised that Hermione had been made a prefect. Conscientious, hard-working, she was the obvious choice.  
  
Then he turned to Ron, who had got even taller over the summer, if that were possible. He was now almost six feet tall, and Harry was very conscious of how he had to crane his neck to look up at him.  
  
"'Right there, Ron?" he said, looking up at his best friend.  
  
"Yeah, fine, Harry," Ron replied grinning down at him.  
  
"So what's this news that you couldn't tell me before?" Harry asked, voicing the question he had been longing to ask for the last ten days.  
  
Ron's ears went pink, and he pursed his lips tightly together looking slightly embarrassed. Then he silently pulled back the edge of his jacket to reveal a gleaming silver badge emblazoned with the letter P.  
  
"You're a prefect too?" asked Harry, staring at the badge. Ron nodded. This wasn't what Harry had expected. Hermione as a prefect, yes, but Ron.  
  
"Ah yes, ickle Ronnekins has defected to the Dark Side," said George, nodding seriously.  
  
"But we just know he'll go easy on his big brothers. You wouldn't turn us in, would you Ronnie?" said Fred, sidling up to Ron and linking arms with him.  
  
"Gerroff!" Ron shook Fred off his arm, scowling, his ears going even redder. "It's an honour to be a prefect and I intend to do a good job at it." Hermione nodded approvingly.  
  
"We're very proud of him," said Mrs Weasley to Harry, stepping forward to straighten Ron's jacket again. "Now you'd better get on that train if you want to all sit together."  
  
"Yeah, come on guys, let's go," said Ron, turning and ushering them all towards the carriage door.  
  
"Yes, P-P-P-Percy!" smirked Fred, as he swung himself quickly up onto the train out of Ron's reach.  
  
Once on the train, Fred and George decided it would be a bit of a squeeze to fit all of them in one carriage and headed off to find their friend Lee Jordan. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny found an empty carriage to themselves and carefully stowed their things for the daylong journey ahead of them. Then Ginny remembered something she had forgotten to ask her mother and left to find Mrs Weasley again.  
  
"So how was the rest of your summer, after your party, I mean?" asked Ron, slumping down into the seat opposite Harry.  
  
"Could've been a lot worse," Harry replied. He then proceeded to tell them about Dudley's strange behaviour over the summer and about his help in getting a taxi to the station. The only thing he didn't tell them was the name of the girl who had been writing to Dudley - Harry figured that one would be best left until he was more certain of his facts. They listened intently as he also told them about his continued visits to Arabella Figg's house over the summer and the attack on her the previous Friday.  
  
"I hope she's okay," said Hermione, frowning. "But fancy her watching out for you all those years without you knowing."  
  
"I asked Dad if he'd heard of her when we got the invitation to your party," said Ron. "He said that she and Dumbledore go way back - apparently she was working with him when he defeated Grindelwald in 1945. She's also worked at the Ministry in the past, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."  
  
"That makes sense," commented Harry. "She's got quite a way with animals, especially cats."  
  
A whistle blew outside on the platform, the last doors slammed shut and the train began to move. Ginny reappeared, gave one last wave to Mrs Weasley at the window and sat down quietly opposite Hermione. Harry thought they'd better change the subject. Even though Ginny was Ron's sister, there were a lot of things the three of them never discussed in front of her. It just didn't seem right somehow.  
  
"What have you been up to this summer that's kept you so busy you couldn't write to me then?" Harry asked Ron.  
  
"Oh, yeah, sorry about that," Ron replied. "Fred and George are really serious about opening this joke shop of theirs next summer. They've even managed to talk Mum round to the idea. It appears they've even found someone stupid enough to invest some money in it, you know, for rent, stock and stuff. So I've spent most of the summer helping them with their research."  
  
"But you only helped them because of the classy dress robes they bought you, Ron," said Ginny. "You wouldn't have done it otherwise."  
  
"I would!" retorted Ron, his ears going pink again.  
  
Typical Ron, thought Harry, being too proud to accept a gift without doing something in return. He was glad to hear the twins had kept their end of the bargain and bought the dress robes for him though.  
  
"What about you then, Hermione? Did you have a good holiday?" Harry asked, turning his attention to her.  
  
"Fine thanks, Harry," she replied with a small smile.  
  
"Where did you go this year?"  
  
Hermione looked down at her hands in her lap, as she replied, "Oh, I went on a tour of Eastern Europe, to Bulgaria and Romania."  
  
Harry noticed that Ron was scowling, his arms now folded and his neck as pink as his ears.  
  
"Unusual place to go for a holiday, isn't it? What did you do there?" Harry enquired further.  
  
"My parents and I spent the first week at a resort on the Black Sea coast in Romania," she answered, not looking up, "and then we went down to Bulgaria for a few days, to Viktor's castle."  
  
"Flat-footed Russian git," muttered Ron under his breath, his face like thunder.  
  
Hermione's head snapped up sharply. "He's Bulgarian, not Russian," she retorted hotly, her eyes narrowed. "And it's my business how I spend my holidays, not yours. It happened to be culturally very interesting."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, I can just imagine: 'vood you like to see my etchings, Herm-ow-ninny?'" he said sarcastically, trying to imitate Krum's accent and failing miserably.  
  
Harry was now regretting having asked the question. This was obviously a sore point, and he could tell from the resigned look on Ginny's face that it was just the latest round in an ongoing dispute.  
  
Hermione was temporarily speechless, evidently searching for a suitably cutting reply, when Ginny broke in: "Shouldn't you two be in the Prefects' Compartment anyway?"  
  
Hermione looked at her watch in alarm. "Good grief, I'd forgotten about that! We're supposed to be at our introductory meeting about now. Come on, Ron, or we'll be late."  
  
She headed for the door in haste and disappeared towards the front of the train.  
  
"We'll try and get back when the meeting's finished," Ron said to Harry, as he sulkily followed after her, the colour slowly subsiding from his face.  
  
"What was all that about?" Harry asked Ginny after they were out of sight.  
  
"They've been bickering for the whole of the last fortnight," Ginny replied, "and everyone at home's got really fed up with them. Every time Hermione mentions her holiday, Ron goes up the wall about it. He slags off Viktor Krum and accuses Hermione of being a traitor - you know, fraternising with the enemy and all that. Doesn't seem to matter how often she says they're 'just friends', Ron doesn't seem to believe her."  
  
Ginny leaned forward towards Harry and lowered her voice to a whisper. "The worst bit was last week, when Ron asked if Viktor had thrown a nice tea party to introduce her to You-Know-Who. Hermione was really upset, and they were still yelling at each other half an hour later, when Mum stepped in. Dad was livid about it - told Ron he was being very insensitive, especially with all that's been happening recently. He banned them from talking about holidays or Viktor Krum for the rest of the hols."  
  
"So it was silly of me to bring it up," said Harry. "Sorry."  
  
"You weren't to know," Ginny replied, giving him a small smile.  
  
Harry could see that this new term wasn't going to be that straightforward if Ron and Hermione were at each other's throats all the time. But then, were things ever straightforward where the three of them were concerned? There seemed to be periods in every year to date when one of them wasn't talking to one or both of the other two. In the first year, it had been Hermione not talking to both him and Ron, though that had been before they really knew her; and last year it had been Ron not talking to Harry. He could just picture what the long, stony silences in the Gryffindor common room would be like if Ron and Hermione weren't talking to each other. Then magnify it ten-fold with them both being Prefects. God help any poor unsuspecting first years that crossed their path mid-argument - Gryffindor would be in negative points in no time!  
  
Harry gazed out of the window for a while, watching the fields and towns whizz by. He wasn't used to being on the Hogwarts Express without Ron and Hermione to talk to, and it felt quite lonely. Ginny was nice enough, but he'd never really talked to her properly one to one. In fact, that last conversation had probably been the most she'd ever said to him without blushing or running off. Still, he thought he'd better make the most of it.  
  
"So Ginny, apart from those two arguing, how was your summer?" he asked to break the silence.  
  
"It was okay, I suppose," Ginny replied, reddening slightly, "hardly any schoolwork, nice weather and all that. But it did get a bit boring. Ron was shut up in Fred and George's room helping them out with their inventing most of the time, Bill and Charlie weren't around at all, and Dad and Percy have been really busy at work. They often had to go into the office at weekends as well. So that just left me and Mum. I love my Mum to pieces, but she can be . well, let's just say I'll be glad to get back to school and see my friends."  
  
Harry found it strange to think that Ginny could be surrounded by such a large family and yet still feel lonely. Probably had something to do with being the only girl.  
  
"You did get away for a few days though, didn't you?" said Harry, remembering why he hadn't been able to go to The Burrow back in July.  
  
"Yes, to Aunt Maggie's in Wales," she nodded. "It was a good time - it was nice to have some different company. Pity we don't see them more really. They've got five kids, all girls, and all younger than me. The eldest, Violet, is coming to Hogwarts this year. I saw her with a group of other first-years near the other end of the train. We're all hoping she'll be in Gryffindor as well."  
  
There was another awkward silence.  
  
"How's Percy these days?" Harry asked, starting to feel like some sort of interrogator. "You said he's been rather busy over the summer. Not still measuring cauldron bottoms, is he?"  
  
Ginny smiled and shook her head. "No. After that business with Mr Crouch last year Percy felt he was under suspicion, as though he'd somehow been involved with what went on. He stuck it out for a month or so hoping things would improve, but then someone got promoted over him, and he took it really personally. He moved departments four weeks ago. Dad put in a word for him and got him a post in the Department of Magical Transportation, on the Floo Regulation Panel. He's still settling in, but it should suit him down to the ground - you know what a stickler he is for regulations!"  
  
Harry smiled. She was right; anything to do with rules and regulations was right up Percy's street.  
  
Just then the compartment door opened, and Harry's fellow fifth year Gryffindor Neville Longbottom popped his head round it.  
  
"Mind if I join you?" he asked nervously.  
  
"Of course not, come in," said Ginny, looking glad of the extra company.  
  
Neville shut the door and sat down in the seat opposite Harry next to the window. As he did so, Harry saw Crabbe and Goyle sidle along the corridor and glare into the compartment at Neville.  
  
"Have those two goons been bothering you?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yeah," answered Neville gloomily. "Malfoy's in some prefects meeting. They were at a loose end, so it looks like they decided I was fair sport. I've been trying to avoid them ever since the train left Kings Cross."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle had stopped short of coming into the compartment and were hanging around outside the door. Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and began to polish it carefully, glancing significantly at the two of them out of the corner of his eye. The memory of their journey home the previous summer was obviously still clear in their minds. Harry saw Goyle gulp and nudge Crabbe with his elbow, then the two of them headed off back down the corridor.  
  
"Thanks," Neville said with a sigh of relief.  
  
"I think I'd better make sure they've really gone," said Harry, getting to his feet, wand still in hand. He fancied stretching his legs anyway.  
  
He went down the corridor in the direction Crabbe and Goyle had gone, passing compartment on compartment of Hogwarts students, some still in Muggle clothes, others already in their robes, all chatting happily. Crabbe and Goyle had stopped further down the corridor, but at the sight of Harry they set off again away from him, eventually disappearing into a compartment.  
  
Satisfied that they had now given up on Neville, Harry pocketed his wand and stopped to look out of the window. The sky, which had been a brilliant blue when they had left London, was now a stony grey, with even darker clouds looming on the horizon. He couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding, as if the coming storm clouds somehow mirrored what was in store for him this year. His relief at getting away from Privet Drive, his feeling of going home to Hogwarts, was waning with the growing recollection that he did have enemies in this world of magic where anything seemed to be possible. And plenty of them. Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, the Death Eaters, Voldemort himself. He had been so looking forward to getting back here, to where he belonged, that he had forgotten what a precarious place it could be. Cedric Diggory. His hands tightened around the rail, as the memory of the Champion's lifeless face passed before his eyes.  
  
The tinkle of the lunch trolley broke into his thoughts. He turned and looked down the corridor towards the sound, and his stomach lurched and knotted at the sight of a familiar petite figure with long, flowing raven hair. Cho.  
  
She was standing with a group of Ravenclaw sixth year girls, looking at the food on the trolley. So pretty, thought Harry as he stood staring at her. Yet she looked pale and drawn; the smile that usually made her face light up was missing. Then a wave of guilt hit him. Of course she wasn't alright - Cedric's death affected her almost as much as it affected him. She must have had a terrible summer. Why, oh why hadn't he taken Sirius' advice and written to her? Now here he stood, wishing he could just go up and talk to her and warm his heart on the brightness of her smile, but knowing there was a huge wall of pain separating them.  
  
Cho glanced up, saw him staring at her and quickly looked down at the trolley again, biting her bottom lip. Transaction completed, she turned to head back to her compartment with the rest of her group, her head still bowed. Then she paused, turned slightly, and for a fraction of a second her eyes met his. She gave a small sad smile and raised her hand in a half- wave. Harry raised his hand to reciprocate the wave, but couldn't bring himself to smile. Cho dropped her gaze again, turned back and walked away.  
  
Harry stood there for a moment, his hand still in mid-air, and watched her go. The sadness he had seen in her face felt like a lead weight in his chest, his self-doubt starting to gnaw at him again. He had caused this pain, inflicted this sadness on her. If only he had touched that Cup before Cedric.  
  
Then Sirius' words from their talk on his birthday came back to him: 'Hindsight can be a terrible thing, and none of us ever get to know what would really have happened if one bit changed. No one is blaming you for this, Harry, not in the least.' That brief smile Cho had just given him showed that she at least was not holding it against him. But would they ever be able to get over this barrier between them?  
  
"Would you like anything from the trolley, dearie?"  
  
Harry started, hastily lowered his hand and shoved it into his pocket. The lunch trolley had reached him, and the witch pushing it was looking expectantly at him. Hardly surprising as he and Ron were some of her best customers. He studied the contents of the trolley, chose a selection of sweets, cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties and gave her a handful of silver Sickles and bronze Knuts in exchange.  
  
As he reached his compartment, he saw Ron and Hermione coming back from the Prefects' Meeting.  
  
"I was beginning to think you two were going to stay in the Prefects' Compartment all day," Harry said as they approached him.  
  
"We wouldn't desert you, Harry," replied Hermione.  
  
"Especially when you're the one with the supplies," added Ron, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Harry's purchases.  
  
They settled in their compartment with Neville and Ginny and made a start on the pasties, supplemented with Mrs Weasley's usual supply of corned beef sandwiches.  
  
"I gather Malfoy's been made a Prefect," said Harry with a frown. "Who else is there?"  
  
"You know how they choose two from each year from fifth year upwards?" answered Hermione, "And how those people usually remain as Prefects for three years? Well, this year because of Cedric, they've chosen an extra Prefect for Hufflepuff, to make up the numbers."  
  
"Yeah, there's Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott and Ernie MacMillan," said Ron, his mouth half-full of pumpkin pasty. "There's also Pansy Parkinson for Slytherin, and Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst for Ravenclaw."  
  
"What about the Head Boy and Girl?" asked Neville.  
  
"Penelope Clearwater's the Head Girl," said Hermione.  
  
"Percy'll be really pleased about that," grinned Ginny. "They're still an item." "And Roger Davies is Head Boy," Hermione continued.  
  
"Two Ravenclaws," commented Harry. "That hardly seems fair."  
  
Hermione and Ron exchanged glances and looked slightly awkward.  
  
"Well," said Hermione slowly, her voice lowered, "it was supposed to be Cedric Diggory."  
  
"Ah," said Harry flatly. This certainly wasn't the day for burying skeletons.  
  
The five of them spent the rest of the afternoon playing chess and Exploding Snap. As twilight drew in and the scenery outside became more mountainous, the train began to slow down. They changed into their Hogwarts robes and packed away the games and remaining sweets just in time for the train to pull into Hogsmeade station.  
  
They disembarked onto the platform, which was crowded with students. Harry looked up and down, expecting to see Hagrid's figure looming out of the semi-darkness as usual, but he couldn't see him. Then there was a piercing blast on a whistle, and they heard a voice say, "First years, this way please. Hurry along now." That definitely wasn't Hagrid's voice.  
  
Harry, being fairly small for his age, couldn't see who it was over the heads of the other students. "Who's calling the first years?" he asked Ron.  
  
Ron, being that much taller, peered effortlessly over the sea of heads. "It's Madam Hooch," he replied. "Wonder what's happened to Hagrid?"  
  
They managed to get a horseless carriage for all five of them for the journey to the school without any trouble. In no time they were once more walking up the steps of the castle, through the entrance hall and taking their seats in the Great Hall for the Start of Year Feast.  
  
"Remember," said Hermione to Ron as they made their way to the Gryffindor table, "we've got to sit near the front of the table but leave enough room for the new first years."  
  
"Yes Hermione, I remember," replied Ron wearily. "Hope the Sorting doesn't take too long - I'm famished."  
  
Soon the Great Hall was bustling with the noise and chatter of hundreds of hungry students, and the teachers' table was filling up too. Harry noted with some concern that Hagrid's seat remained empty. Professor Vector and tiny Professor Flitwick were deep in conversation, and Professor Dumbledore was sitting quietly watching the hall fill up. Professor Snape was also there at the end of the table furthest from Harry, his pale, sallow face as impassive as ever. He was talking to a witch that Harry did not recognise. Harry tried to get a good look at her, but her back was turned to him, so all he could see was that she was petite, with long, black hair that was pulled back and braided.  
  
The doors to the Great Hall opened once more, and Professor McGonagall entered, leading in a line of small awed first years, their eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as they took in their new surroundings. She led them to the front, where they stood uncertainly, as she took a three-legged stool and placed it in the centre in front of the teachers' table. Then she took an ancient, tatty-looking wizard's hat from the staff table and put it down on the stool. The hat was perfectly still for a few moments, then a wide tear near the brim of the hat opened, and it began to sing:  
  
'For centuries I've sorted,  
And this has been my quest:  
To match each brain and aptitude  
With the house that suits it best. No other hat could ever match  
My skill in this Great Hall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I'm heads above them all.  
For those who are gallant,  
It's Gryffindor for you  
The fearless and the valiant  
The noble and the true  
In Ravenclaw the scholarly  
Both sense and reason find  
Intelligence and acumen  
In the inquiring mind.  
The hard-working are destined for Hufflepuff  
The enduring, the steadfast and sure  
Their persistent travails always made  
From motives strong and pure.  
In canny Slytherin are those  
With eager aspiration.  
Their perceptiveness is ever matched  
With artful calculation.  
So pick me up and try me on  
And quickly you will see  
Me look inside and then decide  
Which house you ought to be.'  
  
The students and teachers clapped and cheered as the Sorting Hat finished its song.  
  
"I think I preferred last year's song," Harry whispered to Ron.  
  
"I dunno, it wasn't that bad," replied Ron, still clapping.  
  
Professor McGonagall picked up a large roll of parchment and unrolled it.  
  
"Now, when I call your name, you will come forward and sit on the stool. I will put the Sorting Hat onto your head and you will be sorted into your house. You will then go and sit at your house table. Atkins, Violet."  
  
"That's our cousin," said Ginny, nudging Harry in the ribs with her elbow and pointing.  
  
Little red-haired Violet cautiously approached the stool and sat down. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head, and after a few moments' deliberation it pronounced its verdict.  
  
"Ravenclaw!" shouted the Hat for all to hear. Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all groaned. Violet smiled at them, shrugged her shoulders and ran down to the Ravenclaw table, where she was warmly welcomed.  
  
"Boyle, Darcy."  
  
"Slytherin!"  
  
Harry watched in mild disgust as Darcy Boyle shook Draco Malfoy's hand and sat beside him at the Slytherin table.  
  
"Daniels, Paul."  
  
"Hufflepuff!"  
  
"Goodyear, Tina"  
  
"Slytherin!"  
  
The Sorting continued. The first new Gryffindor was Jonathan Moorhouse, closely followed by Sarah Newton and Serge Rubio. Ron and Hermione performed their Prefect duties impeccably in welcoming each in turn and introducing them to the Gryffindors sitting around them.  
  
With 'Yorke, Michelle' ('Ravenclaw!') the Sorting Ceremony ended, and everyone looked expectantly at Professor Dumbledore, who rose to his feet.  
  
"I would like to welcome you all, new and not so new, to the start of a fresh year at Hogwarts," he said, his ancient face beaming with pleasure. "I do have some beginning of term notices." Ron's face looked glumly down at his empty plate "but I'm sure they can wait until you've eaten. Enjoy."  
  
At this last word, the previously empty tables were magically laden with a wide variety of food. The students tucked in enthusiastically. After Ron's third helpings of shepherd's pie, the golden plates disappeared, to be replaced by clean plates and an array of puddings. Harry tucked into a large portion of treacle sponge and custard, while Ron helped himself to bread and butter pudding and Hermione selected a colourful fruit salad.  
  
When everyone had eaten their fill and more besides, Professor Dumbledore stood to his feet again, and the chattering of the students died away almost immediately.  
  
"Welcome once again to Hogwarts," he said, smiling round at them all. "Now that you are all fed and watered, may I please have your attention while I give out the beginning of term notices.  
  
'Our caretaker, Mr Filch, has asked me to mention that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle, which now number five hundred and twelve, are on display on the main notice board in the entrance hall."  
  
Ron leaned towards Harry and whispered with a smile, "Fred and George are responsible for at least forty of the additions this year!"  
  
Professor Dumbledore continued, "Secondly, I need to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is strictly out-of-bounds to all students. Rubeus Hagrid, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, is currently on extended leave. Professor Grubbly-Plank will be taking his classes until he returns. It is also my great pleasure to be able to introduce to you our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Sophia, who has joined us directly from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."  
  
At this, Professor Dumbledore motioned his hand towards the slight, black- haired witch who had been talking to Professor Snape. She stood, smiling, to acknowledge his introduction, and as she turned towards them, Harry gasped, as did several others around the hall. At first sight, she was extremely pretty, with her braided black hair and smooth olive skin. Her eyes, by contrast, were a light, piercing green, like jewels shining from the dark setting of her face. But as she turned, Harry saw a large, jagged scar running from the far corner of her left eye down to the corner of her mouth, marring the beauty of the rest of her face and twisting it as she smiled.  
  
"She's an Auror!" said Hermione softly.  
  
"Yeah," mumbled Ron in reply. "Wonder how she got that scar."  
  
Professor Sophia took her seat again.  
  
"And now," said Professor Dumbledore, cutting across the whispers that had broken out across the hall, "it's getting late, and I suggest you all get some rest before your lessons start in the morning. Prefects, if you would lead the way please."  
  
Hermione immediately leapt into action, Ron following in her wake. "Gryffindors, follow me please," she called as she made for the doors. They rounded up the ten new Gryffindors and herded them up the main staircase, through a doorway concealed behind a tapestry and up another narrower staircase, the older students following behind. Eventually they reached a large portrait of a fat lady wearing a pink silk dress, where they stopped.  
  
"The p.." began Hermione, but Ron poked her in the ribs.  
  
"This bit's mine, remember?" he hissed at her. Then he turned and said clearly to the assembled Gryffindors, "The password this term is 'Cauldron Cakes'."  
  
At these words, the portrait swung forwards to reveal the hole in the wall that led to the Gryffindor common room. They all climbed through, and Harry immediately headed up to his dormitory, which now had a sign saying 'Fifth Years Boys' on the door, leaving Ron and Hermione to explain the sleeping arrangements to the first years. Their trunks had been taken up to their rooms during the feast as usual, and Harry carefully unpacked his clothes and checked the packages Mrs Weasley had given him.  
  
Then, after chatting with Dean, Seamus and Neville about their holidays for a while, Harry got ready for bed and laid down, closing the curtains of his four-poster round him. He was already asleep when Ron eventually came to bed. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
Timetables and Troubles  
  
When they got their timetables at breakfast the following morning, Harry groaned. It looked like Tuesdays were going to be a nightmare for him and Ron: double Potions with the Slytherins in the morning, and double Divination in the afternoon. Having Divination with Professor Trelawney was never good for them at the best of times, but to have a double session straight after lunch was undoubtedly worse.  
  
"Here's a good Arithmancy question for you, Hermione," said Ron, buttering his third slice of toast. " 'Food + Divination = Sleep: Prove.'"  
  
Hermione looked up from colour-coding her timetable and smirked. "That should be pretty easy. All I'd need to do is climb Trelawney's ladder at three-o'-clock this afternoon and take a picture of you two. Why you didn't take something interesting like Ancient Runes or Muggle Studies, I don't know."  
  
"Wednesdays aren't too bad - Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration," commented Harry, scanning the rest of the timetable, "But we don't get our first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson until Friday morning."  
  
"Wonder what that new teacher's going to be like?" mumbled Ron, his mouth full of toast. "We'll have to see what the others think of her. Fred & George have got her tomorrow."  
  
There was a flurry of noise from overhead. They looked up and saw the post owls soaring into the Hall. Harry saw Malfoy's eagle owl swoop down with the usual weekly supply of sweets and cakes from home. Neville also had a large parcel from his grandmother, suspended between two barn owls, which contained a selection of things he'd forgotten to pack into his trunk. Hermione received her usual copy of the Daily Prophet.  
  
"Is our favourite reporter still keeping her quill to herself?" asked Harry, motioning at the paper in her hand.  
  
"So far, so good," replied Hermione with a smile. "She hasn't written a single article all summer. But then she's hardly likely to with what I've got on her, is she?"  
  
Harry and Ron looked over Hermione's shoulder at the front page of the newspaper. A large, moving black-and-white photograph of a very elderly wizard with bushy, grey eyebrows and a monocle scowled at them from the centre of the page and shook his fist. The headline over the photograph read: MUNDUNGUS ATTACKED.  
  
Harry read further.  
  
'Mundungus Fletcher, a notable collector of magical curios, was found  
stunned at his home in Derbyshire last night. His house had been  
ransacked, and several valuable magical objects were stolen. Mr  
Fletcher is currently recovering at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical  
Maladies and Injuries, where staff say his condition is  
'satisfactory'.  
  
This brings the number of attacks on wizards in recent months to four,  
as well as several mysterious fires that some believe to be arson.  
The Ministry of Magic strenuously denies there is any link between  
these attacks, but asks that anyone with any information should  
contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where the  
information they give will be treated in the strictest confidence.'  
  
"Another attack!" exclaimed Ron in hushed tones.  
  
Harry once again found himself irritated by his isolation from the wizarding world during the summer holidays.  
  
"I got the impression from what Ginny said on the train that there had been some trouble over the summer. What exactly has been going on?"  
  
"Well, the Daily Prophet has reported four attacks now: Elisha Mossop in Surrey, Richard and Juliet Tranmer in Shropshire, and now Mundungus Fletcher," said Ron, lowering his voice even further, "but Dad says there has been far more going on than that - burglaries, fires, even Muggle- baiting. Cornelius Fudge has insisted that as much as possible should be kept under wraps, but it has created loads of extra work for the Ministry staff. You know, memory charms and that."  
  
"Mmm, Ginny said your dad and Percy hadn't been home much," Harry remarked. "Weren't there any reports about what happened to Mrs Figg?"  
  
"Not that I heard about," replied Ron, "but then she has been working in secret for years, hasn't she? The Ministry probably don't know anything about it."  
  
"Where have I heard of Mundungus Fletcher before?" asked Hermione, putting the paper down on the table. "I'm sure that name rings a bell."  
  
"He's a really eccentric old guy," replied Ron. "Don't know if you remember, but when Dad was taking part in all those raids about three years ago, old Mundungus tried to hex him when he raided his house. Keeps some pretty dodgy stuff in his collection, so Dad says."  
  
"Yeah, but Dumbledore seems to trust him," said Harry. "Do you remember in the hospital wing at the end of last term? He sent Sirius off to see him. He wouldn't do that unless he was sure."  
  
"I always said Dumbledore was off his rocker," snorted Ron.  
  
*  
  
After breakfast, the three of them collected their things from Gryffindor Tower and headed down the steps to the dungeons, where Professor Snape's classroom was. Most of the Slytherins were already there, as the Potions classroom was far nearer their dungeon common room than Gryffindor Tower. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle leered at them as they approached.  
  
"Good summer, Potter?" drawled Malfoy. "Murdered any more innocents recently?"  
  
The Slytherin girls sniggered behind their hands, while Hermione tutted indignantly. Harry kept Malfoy's gaze, his eyes narrowed in anger, determined not to give any ground to him.  
  
"Innocents? You should be completely safe then, Malfoy," he replied between gritted teeth. He then turned his back on Malfoy towards Ron and Hermione, who both looked as angry as he felt.  
  
"Ignore him, Harry," whispered Ron. "He's just hoping you'll rise to the bait."  
  
"I intend to," Harry replied, "but I don't want to let him get away with too much either."  
  
The rest of the Gryffindor students arrived in dribs and drabs, waiting in the corridor for Professor Snape to arrive. Among the last to arrive were Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Harry noticed almost immediately that Lavender was walking slowly and wincing slightly, and that Parvati was fussing around her like a mother hen, holding her arm and patting it supportively.  
  
"Hermione, what's up with Lavender?" he asked.  
  
"She broke her ankle over the holidays," Hermione replied, "and because she's Muggle-born she didn't have access to a Medi-wizard. Parvati took her to see Madam Pomfrey last night. She took the plaster off and examined it, but said she didn't have enough stock of the right potion in to mend it properly on the spot. Apparently it had started to mend wrongly, so it'll take more time and trouble than just mending a fresh break. Lavender has to get through today as best she can with just a splint on and spend tonight in the hospital wing having it fixed."  
  
Professor Snape arrived and ushered them into the classroom in his usual dour fashion. Harry stood back and let the other Gryffindors go in first, watching Lavender closely as she passed. Lavender limped by in obvious pain and took her usual seat next to Parvati. Harry found himself wondering what this pretty young witch could possibly see in his obnoxious muggle of a cousin. He was going to have to find the right moment to tackle this one, that was for certain. And now was definitely not it.  
  
Harry took his seat next to Ron at the back of the class, while Hermione sat next to Neville. Once the last student was seated, Professor Snape swept down to the front of the class, his billowing black robes making him seem like an overgrown vampire bat, and began the lesson.  
  
"Over the last four years, you have all mastered something of the rudimentary skills of potion-making - with some notable exceptions," and here his dark, expressionless eyes came to rest on Neville Longbottom, who went as white as a sheet and looked ready to faint. "Now we shall begin to look in more depth at the various areas of expertise to which potion-making can be applied. For most of this year, we will be exploring potions concerning common ailments and their remedies. This will be of particular interest to any of you considering further studies in Medi-Wizardry once you have left school. Today we shall begin with a potion that gives the symptoms of the common cold, the Sneezing Solution."  
  
The rest of the double lesson was taken up with brewing the Sneezing Solution and testing it on each other. By lunchtime the room was filled with the sounds of sneezes and wheezes from all corners, except for Hermione, who, having tried some of Neville's solution, had developed a bad case of hiccups. Professor Snape took a large bottle of an amber liquid and doled out a measure to each student.  
  
"Please drink this remedy before you go to lunch to reverse the effects of your potions," Snape said, his voice notably raised over the sneezes of his students. "Your homework is to research suitable remedies for the Sneezing Solution and discuss the relative merits and drawbacks of each. Class dismissed."  
  
Harry, Ron and Hermione drank their remedies and headed for the Great Hall for lunch. By the time they got there, both Harry and Ron had stopped sneezing and felt normal, but Hermione's hiccups had not stopped. Obviously Snape's remedy didn't work on whatever it was that Neville had concocted.  
  
*  
  
After lunch, Hermione headed off for her Arithmancy class, still hiccupping intermittently, while Harry and Ron reluctantly climbed the long staircases to the top of North Tower, then up the silvery ladder and through the trap door into Professor Trelawney's classroom.  
  
As they climbed in, the heat and heavy scent from the fire hit them. Harry sighed. It was going to be so difficult to concentrate in here all afternoon. Harry and Ron slumped down into some little chintz armchairs near the window, and Harry reached up and opened the window a fraction, just enough to let a small amount of cool air waft over his face. Dean, Seamus and a few of the other students appeared through the trap door and found their seats. Then Harry and Ron heard a small strangled yelp from somewhere below them. Ron, who was nearest, leaned over to look down.  
  
"It's Lavender. She's having trouble getting up here," he said. "Let's give her a helping hand."  
  
Harry got up and went over to the ladder. Lavender had managed to climb about halfway up, with Parvati directly behind her, but now she was just hanging on, her face white with pain, unable to go any further.  
  
"Lavender, take hold of my hand," called Ron, bending down, his arm outstretched. "That's right. Now quickly get hold of Harry with your other hand."  
  
Harry leaned down, and Lavender hesitated for a moment, strengthening her grip on Ron's hand, before she took a deep breath and swung her other hand up towards Harry. He clasped hold of her wrist, and he and Ron pulled her up into the classroom. Harry caught her round the waist to stop her landing heavily on her injured foot and gently set her down.  
  
"Thank you, Harry," she said, still holding his hand and leaning against him for support. She clutched his hand a bit tighter and smiled at him. She was so close he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. "I don't know how I'd have managed without your help."  
  
"Er - it was Ron's idea," replied Harry awkwardly, as he hurriedly removed his arm from her waist, hoping that his face hadn't gone red.  
  
"Yeah, it was," said Ron from behind him, sounding slightly indignant.  
  
"Well, thank you both then," Lavender answered.  
  
Parvati swept past Harry and Ron and, taking Lavender's arm, guided her to the little table nearest to Professor Trelawney's armchair by the fire. They unpacked their books and began to whisper to each other behind their hands.  
  
"What d'you make of that?" Ron whispered to Harry. "Reckon she fancies you?"  
  
Harry didn't reply, but just raised his eyebrows and shook his head sceptically. He was saved from making any further comment by Professor Trelawney's usual dramatic entrance from the shadowy doorway that led to her private chambers. She was wearing her usual assortment of bangles and talismans, a soft lilac lace shawl draped over her thin shoulders.  
  
"Welcome to your third year of Divination," she said in her mistiest voice. "We shall start the year with a brief revision test on the methods you have studied to date: tea leaves, palmistry, basic star charts and crystal ball gazing. Next lesson we will progress to our next area of study: card reading. I have foreseen that one of your number will not be here due to illness, while another will be nursing a broken heart. If the one of the remainder of you could pass your notes to them to enable them to keep up to date, that would be much appreciated. Now the question paper is on the table before you. You may begin at your leisure."  
  
She waved her wand, and a small pile of question papers appeared on each table, which they spent the rest of the afternoon completing. Harry found this kept him focused enough not to get too drowsy, though he did have to nudge Ron a couple of times when he saw his eyelids drooping.  
  
At the end of the double lesson, Harry made a quick exit down the ladder, Ron following close behind, to ensure that Lavender couldn't enlist their help in getting back down to terra firma.  
  
"You know," commented Ron, as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, "that must be the first Divination lesson when Trelawney hasn't predicted your death."  
  
*  
  
The next couple of days passed uneventfully enough. Herbology was joint with the Hufflepuffs as usual, and in History of Magic, Professor Binns moved from the goblin rebellions they had seemingly been studying for an eternity to the giant wars, which proved to be equally as boring.  
  
In Hagrid's absence, Professor Grubbly-Plank started to teach them about the care of Jobberknolls: tiny, blue speckled birds whose feathers are used in Truth Serums and Memory Potions. She had a large cage containing ten or so birds and allocated two students to each, asking each pair to make notes about their bird's plumage, size and distinguishing features. Dean and Seamus named their bird Tweety Pie. They spent most of the lesson trying to get it to sing, and Dean was rather put out when Professor Grubbly-Plank informed them that the birds were mute.  
  
"How can you have a bird called Tweety Pie that doesn't sing?" muttered Dean in a disgruntled fashion.  
  
Professor Grubbly-Plank also told them that there would be a special project beginning after Christmas, the details of which she was not yet allowed to divulge. This certainly caught their interest, and they speculated for hours that evening about what it could be.  
  
"We've done unicorns, so it can't be them," said Ron to the other two, "and we've done Hippogriffs and Nifflers too. Couldn't be dragons, could it?"  
  
"Of course it couldn't," replied Hermione curtly. "You know dragon-breeding is illegal in this country. They're hardly likely to let a bunch of students loose on caring for a dragon anyway, are they? It'd just be asking for trouble. Besides, this is Professor Grubbly-Plank we're talking about, not Hagrid."  
  
*  
  
Thursday evening found them sitting in the far corner of the crowded Gryffindor common room as usual. Ron was beating Harry at chess, and Hermione was busy doing her Arithmancy homework. On the other side of the room, Fred and George were busy showing off their latest inventions to a crowd of younger students.  
  
"These ones took us weeks to perfect," said Fred to their audience, "and they do taste rather good."  
  
"Strawberry and vanilla flavour," added George. "Who'd like to try one?"  
  
Tiny Dennis Creevey stepped forward and took one of the pink bonbons from the plate Fred was holding.  
  
"There's one born every minute," whispered Ron to Harry.  
  
"What do they do then?" Harry asked.  
  
Harry didn't have to wait long to find out. Dennis popped the sweet into his mouth, chewed it a few times. Then there was a faint popping sound, and Dennis sprouted a long black beard that reached to his waist. The crowd erupted in laughter, causing Hermione to look up from her books and tut loudly.  
  
"We got the idea from Professor Dumbledore himself last year," explained George.  
  
A minute later there was another pop and the beard fell to the floor, leaving Dennis unmarked but very excited by his experience.  
  
"That was great!" he squealed, "and they taste fabulous too! Can I have another?"  
  
"Why don't you try one of these instead?" suggested Fred, offering him another plate laden with what looked like large yellow pills about a centimetre in diameter.  
  
"What are they?" asked Colin Creevey, pulling Dennis back by the shoulder. He was clearly more concerned for his brother's welfare than his brother was.  
  
"They're horse pills," replied Fred. "See, it's written on them here."  
  
Sure enough the yellow tablets had the words 'HORSE PILL' stamped into them.  
  
"They do exactly what it says on the pill," said George.  
  
Dennis freed himself from his brother's grip and took one of the pills. He looked it over first, then put it in his mouth.  
  
"Tastes of bananas," said Dennis biting into it. Then a look of astonishment came over his face. He held up his hands, except that they weren't hands any more but hooves. Then he tried to say something, but instead of words coming out, he neighed and whinnied.  
  
"Don't worry, Dennis, it only lasts for a minute," said Fred reassuringly. "Why don't you try out those hooves?"  
  
Dennis eyed Fred suspiciously for a second. Then he smiled, went down on all fours and tried to run. He found his back legs had shortened to match his arms and also had hooves. He lapped the common room at quite a pace, only stopping when he crashed into a table. Then he stood back up, and his legs and feet changed back. A few seconds later - and exactly a minute after he'd taken the pill - Dennis Creevey was completely back to normal again.  
  
"Anyone else want to try some?" asked George.  
  
A few brave souls did, and soon the noise in the common room was almost deafening, with popping noises, neighs and hysterical laughter. All around the room students were sprouting beards, growing hooves and running around neighing loudly.  
  
"That's it," said Hermione, slamming her quill down onto the table, "I've had enough."  
  
She marched over to Fred and George.  
  
"Fred, George, it may have escaped your attention, but some of us are trying to study. Unless you pack this lot away right now, I shall deduct points from you," she proclaimed officiously.  
  
The twins scowled at her, but began packing away nevertheless.  
  
As the neighs and laughter died down, Angelina Johnson, a seventh-year prefect, stood up on the staircase and called for silence. The chatter gradually subsided until all eyes in the room were turned to her.  
  
"Professor McGonagall has asked me to make an announcement concerning the Quidditch team. As you know, we need to choose a new Keeper this year, now that Oliver Wood has left. Katie, Alicia, Fred, George and myself are all in our final year too, so thinking ahead, it would be a good idea to choose and train up reserve Chasers and Beaters as well. There will therefore be Quidditch trials for all those positions on Monday evening on the Quidditch pitch. The trials are only open to second-years and above. If you are interested in taking part in the trials, please give me your name by Sunday night."  
  
Murmurs and excited whispers broke out across the common room. Harry looked across at Ron.  
  
"Are you going to go for it then?" he asked.  
  
"Mmm, might do," said Ron, taking Harry's queen with his knight. "Checkmate."  
  
"What position?"  
  
"I quite fancy Keeper myself, but I'd be willing to be a Chaser as well. Depends on who else shows up for the trials, doesn't it?"  
  
Hermione shut her Arithmancy book sharply and frowned at Ron. "How on earth do you expect to be able to do Quidditch practice and be a Prefect, Ron? Surely you won't have time to do both? You've already committed yourself to Prefect meetings and duties - that's something you should take seriously. Not to mention studying for your O.W.Ls."  
  
Ron scowled back at her. "I do take it seriously, Hermione. But it's not the be-all-and-end-all. Angelina managed to combine the two, and I'm sure I can too."  
  
"Angelina's grades were higher than yours to start with, and she's generally done bare minimum on the Prefect duties," retorted Hermione, "And can you imagine what your mum would say if you didn't get many O.W.Ls because you spent too much time playing Quidditch?"  
  
"You leave my Mum out of this." Ron started, but just then Angelina came across to them.  
  
"Thinking of trying for the team?" she asked Ron, who nodded in reply. "Good man. Now, Harry, the existing team need to get together with Professor McGonagall and choose a new Captain. She's suggested Sunday evening. Is that okay with you?"  
  
"Yeah, fine," Harry replied.  
  
Angelina went off to find Fred and George. Harry was pleased to see that her interruption seemed to have diffused Ron and Hermione's argument, at least for the time being.  
  
Then Harry spotted Lavender Brown across the other side of the common room with Parvati, Dean and Seamus. She had spent Tuesday night in the hospital wing having her ankle fixed by Madam Pomfrey, and now she was walking quite normally again. Harry had been thinking about how to try to find out if she had been writing to Dudley, but was having trouble of finding a way to broach the subject without just marching up her and saying 'Lavender, have you been writing to my cousin?' That was hardly the subtlest approach. Also the way she had reacted to him in the Divination class had unnerved and confused him somewhat. Ron had been right: she had acted as if she fancied him. He couldn't see how that fitted with her writing to Dudley, if indeed it was her.  
  
Lavender saw Harry staring at her, caught his eye, smiled and came across.  
  
"Hi Harry," she said, perching herself on the arm of the chair he was sitting in.  
  
"Hi Lavender. How's the ankle now?" asked Harry, shifting uneasily as Lavender draped her arm along the back of the chair behind him.  
  
She replied, "Oh, it's as good as new now. Look." Then she unexpectedly lifted up the foot that had been injured and put it on Harry's knee. "It was broken across here." she indicated with a finger "and there was a deep gash just there."  
  
As she leaned forward to point out where her injuries had been, her long, dark brown hair brushed against Harry's cheek. Ron raised his eyebrows in mild disbelief, while Hermione suppressed a giggle and looked quickly down at her notes. Harry tried to lean as far back in the chair as possible, away from her, but as he did so he could feel that he was just pressing against her arm on the chair back. Feeling the colour rising in his face, he brushed her foot off his knee and stood up.  
  
"How did you break it, anyway?" he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.  
  
Now Lavender looked a little embarrassed.  
  
"Um, it was a freak accident. I can't really explain it . Look Harry, can I talk to you privately?" she said, glancing across at Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Suppose so," answered Harry. "Let's go over there by the window." He figured it would be better to bring up the subject of Dudley privately rather than in front of the others.  
  
When they were out of earshot and had both sat down on one of the window seats, Harry said, "So what did you want to talk to me about, Lavender?"  
  
Lavender avoided Harry's gaze nervously.  
  
"It's kind of awkward." she began, looking down at her immaculately manicured nails. "I've noticed you looking at me a lot in the last few days and." Now she looked up and her blue eyes met his ".and I was hoping that maybe you feel the same way about me as I do about you."  
  
Harry stared at her with a puzzled expression on his face. This wasn't what he'd expected to hear.  
  
"What d'you mean?" he asked, unable to think of anything more suitable to say.  
  
Lavender sighed. "Do I have to spell it out, Harry? I like you a lot, and I was wondering if . if you'd take me on a date sometime."  
  
As she said this, she slipped her hand into Harry's and sidled closer to him.  
  
"No!" said Harry loudly, pulling his hand away and jumping to his feet again. "I was looking at you because I was wondering why you've been writing to my cousin, not because I fancy you!"  
  
The common room went rather quiet, and lots of people started looking in their direction, but Harry was so flustered by Lavender's proposition that he didn't really notice them. The smile had faded from Lavender's face, and she looked a bit shocked.  
  
"You know about that?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly.  
  
"Wasn't too hard to work out: a girl called Lavender Brown starts writing to Dudley, but breaks her ankle on her way to see him. Then you turn up at school with a broken ankle. QED," said Harry hotly. "But what I don't understand, Lavender, is why you're leading Dudley on one minute and coming on to me the next."  
  
"Well, when I realised that Dudley was your cousin, it was just too good an opportunity to miss to get to see you over the holidays, to get closer to you. It's not a crime to like you, is it Harry?" she replied, looking at him wistfully.  
  
"But it is pretty underhand to use him to get to me! Dudley thinks you're interested in him, that you wanted to visit him, and it's going to hurt him to find out you're not. What makes you think I'd be interested in a girl who'd walk over someone else's feelings like that?"  
  
Ron, who'd been watching what was going on, had made his way over to them.  
  
"Hang on a minute," he said incredulously, "Are you telling me it's Lavender who's been writing to Blubber Boy over the summer? Ha, can't blame you for keeping that one quiet! Like 'em big, do you Lavender?"  
  
Lavender gave Ron a contemptuous look and then turned her attention back to Harry.  
  
"What about you then, Harry? You have all these barriers around you, don't you? Whatever it was round your house that broke my ankle was just a small part of something far bigger. You're afraid to let anyone get too close to you. How very brave!"  
  
"At least I can choose who I let in!" retorted Harry.  
  
"Lavender and Dudley!" said Ron, missing the point of the argument entirely. "What was it you first saw in him, Lavender, his triple chin?"  
  
Lavender scowled angrily at them. "Compared to you two, Dudley is a pussycat!" And with that she stormed off up the stairs to her dormitory.  
  
Hermione joined them as they watched her retreating back.  
  
"That was - um - delicately handled," she observed. "Don't you think you were a bit hard on her, humiliating her in front of everyone like that?"  
  
"Humiliated? Her?" said Harry. "How do you think I felt with her crawling all over me like that? Didn't mean for it all to be so public though."  
  
"Dudley and Lavender!" repeated Ron disbelievingly.  
  
* 


End file.
